


Fever Games

by Elizabeth Klarke (cyanideparty)



Series: Adolf & Eva Collection [11]
Category: Adolf Hitler - Fandom, Historical Criminals RPF, Historical RPF, Real Person Fiction, Third Reich - Fandom, World War 2 - Fandom
Genre: Adolf Hitler - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Emotional Manipulation, Eva Braun - Freeform, Eva Hitler, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Historical, Inspired by Real Events, Morning Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Nazi Germany, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sex, Sex/Penetration from Behind, Third Reich, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, Woman on Top, Work In Progress, World War 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideparty/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Klarke
Summary: Outside of her, it was endless lectures ofAbsolutely no more of that. You’re done now. Enough acting like an adolescent.Then that clawing sense of sexual starvation would again start to flare up and had so little trouble convincing him after such a long absenceJust do it, it’s been so long, no one else knows but her, and look at how exquisitely she blossoms beneath this. No one else knows.And that damning curiosity roaring so loud in his ears again.He walked toward the door.Irresponsible, reckless, inappropriate! Certainly not befitting of a gentleman, definitely definitely definitely crossing a line.More lectures trying to break through the roaring but ultimately being suffocated deep into a guilty silence. But were there any lines left to cross after all they’d done and continued to do with one another? He knew her thoroughly, inside and out. He knew her.So where was this line?No one else will know….





	1. Double Standards

_Round about the castle a thorn hedge began to grow, and every year it became higher, until it finally surrounded and covered the entire castle. Finally nothing at all could be seen of it, not even the flag on the roof._

*    *    *

For once, he’d woken up before her. He’d opened his eyes to her character peaceful in sleep. Eyes closed, face half sunken into the pillow, hair falling over her cheek, lips parted just enough he could see her front teeth.

A rare occurrence, the day already felt slightly offbeat. Perhaps it was provoked by the desire to push her onto her back and draw her into morning sex. She wouldn’t say no. She liked morning sex especially. She liked starting with that intimacy, and she liked thinking on it for the rest of the day. Notably when she looked at him, when she stood near him, when she spoke with him. He couldn’t say the feeling wasn’t shared. They both walked through the day covered in the same secret; and that was fun.

He’d had fun dreams last night. Dreams where he’d had her up against the wall of a courtyard soaked in moonlight, one of her legs hooked tight around his hips, her skirt hiked up over her waist, her hitched moaning in his ear as he lost himself deep inside her. Dreams that hadn’t helped his physical condition. He’d woken up charged and tense. And this was one of the positives about having her; and having her so near in an area that was utterly private and entirely theirs. He could do something about that. In the past, he would have tried to ignore it. But now he could indulge if he so chose.

And he was so choosing.

He’d noticed he’d started to make a habit of this: indulging in these urges. Whatever. He’d worry about whether he should worry about it later.

He took a hold of her shoulder and pushed her onto her back. Her eyes shot open and she sighed out a little noise of surprise as he rose up onto his hands and knees over her. He ducked down and placed his mouth upon hers. And for a moment, she kissed him back. Then she took a hold of his shoulders and pushed him off, back to his side of the bed.

“ _Ach!_ What are you doing, woman?” he demanded, suddenly on his back. He sat up, and watched perplexed as she threw the down comforter to the side and hopped off the bed. She muffled something from behind a hand that was covering her mouth. What the hell had she said? “ _What?_ ” he asked, his voice finely edged. He was starting to feel insulted.

She removed her hand. “Morning breath!” She took off into her bathroom, unaffected by his sharpened tone. Sitting atop the covers, he observed in the mirror her reflection as she started to brush her teeth with vigor and speed.

He made a low noise in his throat. He was feeling greedy. He wanted to be indulged. Now. Those dreams had pushed him right up to the edge but they hadn’t pushed him _over_ and that was a dreadfully cruel thing to do to a man. Her job was to put right that situation, and she was very very very good at it, so why the hell was she all the way over there.

“This is stupid,” he grumbled, eyes peering from beneath his brow

She heard him. She took the toothbrush out of her mouth. “You bathe twice a day,” she said pointedly, her mouth full of toothpaste. She took the opportunity to spit it into the sink before putting the brush back into her mouth. She paused again. “I’m surprised you didn’t wake me with an order to brush, actually.”

He looked away from her eyes in the mirror. He wasn’t about to inform her he’d been far more interested in getting his cock wet inside her than the issue of their breath at that moment. “I had figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said, getting up from the bed. He started walking towards the door to the trunkroom that connected their two bedrooms. As he walked through the threshold he threw back, “It’s my error for failing to recall I have you so well-conditioned, really.”

That was for pushing him.

He heard the clatter of her putting her toothbrush away and the shutting of a drawer. He went into his bathroom and began preparing his own toothbrush. Then she materialized in the doorway. Right on cue. “You should get a toothbrush for my bathroom. It’d be much more convenient for mornings like this. Quicker.”

“You know I cannot do that,” he said, and started brushing.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he said around the toothbrush.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She was leaning against the doorframe, ankles crossed. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, only stared at him in the mirror. He wished she wouldn’t do that. It made him feel self-conscious, one of the drawbacks of living with the girlfriend. She saw everything. Like when his hair really needed to be combed. Or washed, for that matter.

And that silly little cowlick was back.

“Everyone knows we have sex. You know everyone knows,” she stated.

He sighed. He removed the toothbrush from his mouth and spit into the sink. He leaned on his hands against the porcelain and turned his head to look into her bold eyes. He put on an expression of patience as if he were explaining something to a child. “No, my dear. They infer that we are a couple.”

She stared at him. Her expression remained unaffected. “How is that any different from what I just said?”

“They know we are very close. Beyond that, who knows for certain what we are or what we do? The parameters of this relationship are still open for debate as far as they’re concerned.” Though, they honestly shouldn’t be concerned _at all_. But he knew how people talked. People and nature were predictable. “They can only theorize there’s a sexual component to it.”

Her eyes widened just a bit, her eyebrows arching somewhat. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “You’re living with a girl you’re not married to. Everyone is going to think you’re having sex with her–especially. What do _you_ think about unmarried men living with girls?”

He shrugged, pushing that unpleasant thought out of his mind. “I know that.” She was missing the point. “But one can only presume this. I’m not about to _confirm_ it for them. You see?” He followed her with his eyes as she padded over to the separate little counter with her bare feet and hopped up onto it. She only looked at him. But she understood. He gave her a tender smile. He knew exactly what words would get her onto his side–at least temporarily. “I don’t want anyone else involved in my personal affairs. There’s me, and there’s you. Who else needs to be involved? No one else is a part of this.”

“Hmph,” she agreed, her brow weighted by stubbornness. It apparently irritated her when he told her this look of hers was one of her cutest. Something about how he should feel guilty about finding pleasure in her annoyance…. He didn’t take it seriously which further aggravated her. Which, too, was amusing. “It’s extremely inconvenient, though.”

“That’s laying it on pretty thick.”

“You haven’t grown tired of always being so reticent on the phone? The separate bedrooms? Oh, and I know people steal our mail….”

He subtly waved the toothbrush at her. “I thought we were discussing toothbrushes.” Besides, he typically liked their telephone conversations. There was something to be admired in how so much could be said in so little. In code. This was a distinct characteristic to their relationship. It made them unique. He knew she often thought the same way so why was she complaining?

Furthermore, he couldn’t imagine the two of them sharing one room and one bathroom. _She had so much stuff._ He’d never see a mirror again with how long she took to get ready, and he’d have to toss out two-thirds of his armoire with all those dresses she had. And with all the shoes she kept buying for him that he’d never asked for…. No, certainly they needed their space.

They didn’t need one bedroom to regularly make use of only one bed.

“The toothbrush is a metaphor,” she said. He rolled his eyes and grinned. He squeezed her knee, then went back to brushing his teeth. “This isn’t funny!” But she was smiling a little.

“I know,” he said with dramatic seriousness.

“Then why are you smirking?”

“Not smirking. Cleaning my teeth.”

She pushed herself off the small counter. She stepped up close, pressing her body firm against him. Her hand slipped into his pants. His toothbrush froze. Her fingers ran through his pubic hair and onto his cock which began to swell thick in her hold. “Well, you know what isn’t funny, but is definitely pretty _fun_?” she said, meeting his startled gaze in the mirror as she stroked his growing erection.

_Bending you over the sink._

He grabbed her wrist and removed her from his pants. “Stop it.” He resumed brushing. He was determined to disregard the intense throbbing; and the thought of being able to directly see himself fucking her reflected in the mirror. Seeing on her face every single expression triggered by every single thrust into her from behind as he gripped her hair to get himself deeper. Seeing her fog the mirror with the sounds of her ecstasy, with the sounds of his name, that would rush from her mouth.

No. It was best that stayed only a fantasy for now.

Now she was smirking. Her fingers moved over the fabric covering his groin, tracing the outline of his stiff cock with a delicate touch. “Why?”

“It’s distracting.” He could see his own gaze frosting over opaque with arousal. That was annoying. He blinked, and looked down at the faucet.

“That’s the point,” she said smugly, sliding back up onto the counter. “Besides, I like seeing what I do to you.”

He gave her a disapproving sideways glance. “You’re strange sometimes.” She really wasn’t and he knew it. But he said it anyway because he didn’t know what else to say right then. _I like what you do to me as well?_ That sounded stupid. Plus, she already knew that. Surely. He didn’t _need_ to say something so obvious. His body often said more than enough without his permission. This morning was proof enough.

“That’s not fair. Why can you like it on me but I can’t like it on you? Seems like a double standard.”

He spit for the last time, rinsed and wiped his mouth. Then he looked her in the eyes. “Return to your room.”

“I’m not going without you.”

He leaned forward on his hands against the porcelain again. “Who said I wasn’t going?” Had she already forgotten how she’d woken up? Because he certainly hadn’t.

She gasped. “Oh mein Gott,” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

Another sigh. “What?” He didn’t want to talk anymore. She’d made his morning-wood exponentially worse and it was really starting to bother him. He simply wanted to get her back into her bed. He wasn’t one for crass behavior, but he’d started to imagine grabbing her hips, yanking her down and drag–

“Your shoulder,” she said. The way his top was contorted due to his position gave her a peek at his left shoulder. And she could see a sizeable stark bruise that had not been there last night. She slid off the counter and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his top. And as she uncovered more of his chest and shoulders, she realized what it was that he was spotted in: bite marks. “Oh Gott, Adi… why didn’t you tell me?!” she asked, rubbing her hands over him. She traced the thin red lines that were etched into his skin like fine ribbons.

“Whatever are you going on about?” He was staring at himself in the mirror. It looked far worse than it actually was. The marks on his skin looked more intimidating because of the higher contrast. His skin was lighter than hers, the marks appeared darker. “You’re making something out of nothing.”

“These look painful. You must tell me when I’m out of control,” she said, still softly tracing.

He looked back down to her, thinking for a moment, weighing pros and cons. Then, “This is not some newfangled inclination on your part, you understand.”

“What?!”

“Shh. Settle down.”

“Why haven’t you said anything?”

_Because I like it._ “Because you’d respond precisely in this manner.”

“Of course I’m responding like this—I’ve injured you!”

And he laughed in earnest. She was taken aback. “You haven’t injured me. But that is terribly cute.” He could see she was torn between stubbornly arguing that she could hurt him if she really _wanted_ to; and sticking to her flooding concern for his well-being. He made the decision for her. He took the hair curling under her ear between his fingers and moved it back from her neck, revealing a thick, irregularly shaped mark uncannily similar to the ones he bore. “Evchen, are you in pain when I’m marking you?”

Her eyes shifted to the mirror. To the mark on her reflection. “Well, no…”

“Then don’t presume I am.”

“But _these–_ ”

“You mentioned double standards only a moment ago, did you not?”

“I suppose.”

“I trust this especially qualifies.”

She frowned. “I suppose,” she repeated. He took a hold of her chin and guided her gaze back to him, his expression demanding an explanation. So she loosely shrugged, her eyes falling to his chest. She began toying with the buttons to his shirt. “The thought of actually _hurting_ you is unpleasant. And I like making love with you.”

He mussed her hair, and she glared up at him. “I know,” he said casually, walking past her and out of the room. She was left standing there in her nightgown, looking after him.

Then she stared over into the mirror again, pushing her hair back and admiring the rosy marks impressed into her skin. Her fingers pressed gently into the spots, enjoying the dull soreness that crept out from its epicenter. A soreness that made her wet between her thighs. A soreness that she often sparked when alone and when she believed no one was looking, because she liked the physical token he left her with of the intimacy they shared. An action entirely his she could incite over and over again, like he was touching her even when he wasn’t in the room; a memory triggered so effectively the moment was suddenly happening all over again. She could _feel_ it. She was once again experiencing it, living it.

He’d afforded her the capacity to live in her fantasies by gifting to her memories. Memories dripping in so much passion and sensation, she could feel his touch in the bruises he left and get off on it.

He leaned back into the room then, silently studying her, interested. Watching her press her fingers into his markings. He’d seen her do this on multiple occasions before, when she thought no one would notice. And he knew why she did it. The same reason he did it to himself. Or so he assumed.

And it never failed to flip that wicked switch. It was always the little things she did–touching her bruises, coyly tilting her head, folding her hands behind her back–that encouraged his most vulgar thoughts. He liked thinking of her being consumed by her fantasies of him, which really weren’t much of a fantasy at all. He’d pretty much been built right into her reality.

Or was it that he’d been built into her fantasies? Yes, that made far greater sense.

“Tschapperl?”

She spun toward him, slender fingers splayed across her exposed collarbone. “Hm?”

“I thought you expressed a pleasure in making love to me?”

“I do!” she said enthusiastically, eyes wide, clear, brimming with sincerity.

“Why have you remained in here, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to get a little carried away with this one. But it was originally–still is–a birthday gift for myself, so I deserve everything you’re going find in this story. Sweetness and naughtiness all included. Enjoy my gross present.


	2. Flipping the Board

He thrust out a noise of frustration between his teeth from deep within his throat, and pushed himself up off her naked, dewy body. He stared down at her, blue eyes hardened with solid displeasure. “You’re holding back,” he said flatly, his hair shiny and falling over his forehead.

She shook her head and glanced away. “No.”

“Enough.”

Her gaze slipped back to his. Fierce. Challenging. The pressure from her fingers on his shoulders increasing. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Exactly!” he whispered harshly. The sweat sprinkled across his neck and chest was thinly sparkling. “You’re not _doing_ anything. Because, why–you’re concerned I cannot manage with a few nips and scrapes? That’s utterly asinine.”

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“I wouldn’t have to be so sharp if you weren’t acting so thoroughly insulting.”

“I’m not trying to be insulting.”

“It’s insulting.”

The late morning sun was seeping in through the curtains, painting their figures and the room with a filmy, summer yellow light. He hadn’t wanted to start off the day without fucking her first, but if she was going to continue to act like this he’d simply cut his losses. He wasn’t about to go on screwing her knowing she was doing it _nicely_. There was something altogether wrong with that scenario.

If he wanted someone who was boring and wasn’t going to play rough, he’d find someone who was boring and didn’t play rough. What didn’t she get about that? Did he honestly have to spell it out for her?

“You have never taken issue with this before,” he said.

“It’s never been this many marks before.”

“You’re covered with just as many.”

“I am not, and besides, that’s not the same.”

“Why.”

“Because I’m not the one doing that!”

“I don’t understand this logic.” If it was even logic at all.

“Of course you don’t,” she huffed bitterly and pushed him away from her completely, the tips of her fingers catching on his damp skin.

“No. Eva, you owe to me a sound explanation,” he said rigidly, watching how her body moved under the flawless skin of her back as she slid off the bed. He was becoming genuinely angry, and he didn’t like being angry when he was home with her. It was a waste. “You cannot claim I am incapable of understanding simply because I am _me_ ; and leave your reasoning to that. Again, it’s insulting.”

“Stop saying I’m trying to insult you,” she mumbled, slipping her arms through the sleeves of her dressing robe.

He shrugged, pulling the downy comforter up around his waist. “I’ve yet to see an alternative, justifiable reason put forth.” Of all the altercations they’d had over the years, this had to be one of the most ludicrous. Their sex life was perfect the way it was and it didn’t require discussion. Now she was trying to change it, which didn’t make sense because he’d almost been certain she somehow enjoyed the sex more than he did.

Staring at her, he finally said, “This is stupid.”

She turned and gave him a wry smile, holding her robe closed between her fingers just over the tiny dip in her collarbone. The gold bracelet he’d given to her years ago for her twenty-first birthday, the one piece of jewelry she wore every single day without fail, glittered on her wrist. “That’s twice now you’ve said that this morning.”

“Both times warranted. Get back into bed.”

“And if I say no?” She was tying her robe closed.

“I will not be hunting you down.”

“That’s unfortunate.” 

“Then I emphatically recommend you heed my direction, and get into this bed.” She momentarily only gazed at him, pretending to sincerely contemplate whether she was going to take him up on his offer or not. But he had no patience for this game. “Ach, abandon the phony act. We both know very well you’re coming over to me.”

She did. She went to the bed, crawled up onto its fluffy, flower-patterned surface, and tucked her knees beneath her, hands folded in her lap. “I only want to be sure you’re having fun. During sex.”

“Precisely what have I said to persuade you otherwise?”

“Well, nothing.”

“Sure. How one arrives at this conclusion then, I completely understand,” he said, his voice whetted by sarcasm. _Womeennn_. Always seeing signs that weren’t truly there. If only he could find in her brain that good-for-nothing wire and cut it.

“I’m worried I’m being selfish!” she confessed, voice exhausted, her fingers fiddling with that bracelet.

“ _Pardon me?_ ”

She was the most altruistic lover he’d ever had. It was never a race to the finish line with this girl. It was always, _what else can I do to make you feel good?_ She was so obvious in her desire and her eagerness to bring him that unparalleled sense of transcendent, physical pleasure; so obvious in how erotic she found servicing him and leading him to orgasm. Which had not been the case with anyone else. But that’d be an awkward conversation, and it wouldn’t end well. He couldn’t say that. No matter how reinforced his statement was with truths regarding how much he positively loved having sex with her. Her jealousy was worse than his; and he knew that because he intentionally toyed with it.

It’s all she would hear: she hadn’t been the only one. And then that’s all she would see when looking at him: other women, coloring his body all over with their company. Her paranoia would balloon, her mind would fly off, and ceaselessly multiply and multiply and multiply his number. And this he felt was unfair. He had self-control.

But maybe that’s all he’d hear too, had it been the other way around. Maybe that’s all he’d see too. Men, men, and more men. And seldom, when they stepped a bit too close for his comfort, he did; and he did not enjoy that sight. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He just knew the intentions of men. He knew the thoughts of men.

It wasn’t possible to have a companion as pretty as her and expect men around him not to think about her in certain ways. He was aware. There was pride in having her as his own, undeniably. But he wanted those thoughts to go only so far. Admiration and stop. There were lines, but only visible within in own his mind. He could hardly tell anyone outright, _think about her only like this_.

Still. That didn’t mean he didn’t own the right to be moody when he knew lines had been too far crossed. At least, that’s what he’d decided.

“I’m worried I’m putting my fun before yours,” she said finally. “I don’t want to spoil your fun by… getting lost in my own enthusiasm, I suppose. I don’t want to forget about you.”

“That’s–” He stopped short due to her expression, and looked to the side. Regardless of the fact that it was warranted here as well. Because it was stupid: the notion she was too focused on herself during their love making. But perhaps using the term when she appeared to be genuinely troubled that she hadn’t been considering his needs enough was… a bit cruel. “Really very silly.”

“I don’t think it is,” she grumbled.

So he grabbed her shoulders and threw her on her back into the pillows, moving to hover over her. “It is; and I should know. Take my word. You have no others.” A fact he knew he took for granted and would happily continue to do so. Hands trapping her to the mattress, gripping her just below the shoulders, he dipped down and put his mouth to the hollow right beneath her ear. “Take my word when I say: _I like it,_ ” he whispered fast, his sultry breath coating her sensitive, now tingling skin as his fearless fingers slipped into the tie of her robe and began to tear it open.

He had to say it fast. Move on the impulse. Otherwise he’d second-guess, and decide he wanted that part of his hand to remain hidden. Admissions of the kind were sometimes… difficult. Awkward. Exposure was still a bit of a new feeling to him. He was still getting used to it, still learning to let go and enjoy it. But he was certain this was the right move and the only move to fix this. It was the card to play and he had to play it now.

He felt her exhale, the air moving through his hair and grazing his scalp. She turned her face into him and delicately took his ear between her teeth, her fingers lacing themselves securely through his glossy hair. He yanked open the sides of her robe, re-exposing her body to him. He growled hoarsely into her ear, “I know you can do better than that.” It helped that he was unbelievably needy this morning.

Unexpectedly, he felt her hands latch onto his shoulders and force him up vertical again, her body moving with him. She buried her face in his neck; and he began hastily pulling the robe off her shoulders and down her arms, completely removing it from her body and throwing it to the floor. He felt her mouth wandering up and down his neck, her lips soft and wet, her tongue brushing over his skin. And with her hand sliding back up into his hair, she took a sturdy hold of him, suddenly pulled his head back and sunk her teeth in.

“ _Gott!_ ” he exclaimed gutturally, eyes wide, the force of breath moving the word forth  from behind his clamped teeth strained. He wrapped taut his arms around her and fell back onto the bed, taking her with him. Her face still tucked into his neck, marking good his flesh, he took a hold of her thighs and moved them to either side of his hips, spreading her wide over his body. He dropped a hand beneath her and she felt his fingers sweeping across the skin of her stomach as he traveled down her abdomen. Down between her legs.

Instantly, he drove two fingers into her and she gasped, unfastening her teeth from him. Blood rushed hot to his newborn wound. He let go a laugh thin of strength into her unruly hair, and said, “Always at the ready for me.” He’d hardly yet touched her. But her body was so ready for him to get going again, regardless.

Her hips began to move in rhythm with his thrusting fingers. She’d braced herself up on her forearms over his chest, and he had clear view of her face as he relentlessly worked the begging, sparking nerves within her vagina: her lust powered eyes, her scandalously flushed cheeks, her frantically panting mouth. Too soon, the noises rising from within her were becoming harsher, denser, rawer. He felt her fluids slide over his wrist and start creeping down the inside of his arm. He wasn’t going to allow her to get off so fast.

He withdrew his fingers. But covered in sweltering desperation, she was quick to act: she reached down between her legs, seized his agonizingly hard cock, and moved to line him up with her velvet opening. Intent on dragging him into immediate nirvana alongside her.

So she was hunting for a fight. He’d happily provide her one.

Just as he felt her press the head of his cock against her overheated flesh, he threw her off to the side and she dropped solidly onto the bed with a stunned, terse cry. He immediately sat up and pounced on her prostrate form, momentarily struggling against her resistance, then succeeding in wrestling her immobile. His hands pinning her wrists to the bed just above her head, his knees compelling her legs to open wide, he gazed ravenously down at her, eyes ablazing, pearls of sweat lazily sliding down his temples. Her breasts, spotted with dying love stains, were rising and falling rapidly, her skin was moist and sticky, and her gaze was bathed in an intense, dazzling sexual excitement.

Both naked and shimmering, submerged in love, submerged in lust, submerged in golden light. A Renaissance painting.

“You’re such a tease,” she said, grinning madly. She opened and closed her fingers. He was unknowingly preventing the blood from flowing into her hands but she didn’t care.

“I won’t apologize for that.” His ability to tease her, to edge her to that razor thin precipice settled between the dizzying climb and the hard fall, made her climaxes exponentially superior to any she’d ever experienced at her own fingers. She simply didn’t have the required self-control when it came to her own body, especially when he was the one producing those mind-altering sensations. But he did in most cases. It was a tougher challenge when it was his cock inside her, but not impossible. There was no regret in simply removing himself from her and watching her delicately float back down like a feather in the breeze as he thinly sprinkled her body with soft, slow kisses.

“You should be conveying a healthy dose of gratitude, really,” he said, his thumbs moving over her numbing wrists as he jerked his head to the side to flip a lock of hair away from his eyes.

Her heart and her vagina throbbed in synchronization. “Hm, I’m trying,” she said silkily, one of her legs sliding up the outside of his thigh and locking around his hip. “But you’re making it awfully tricky.” She turned her head to the side, kissed the inside of his arm, held set his gaze with her lips on his skin, then pinched him with her teeth. His grip on her wrists tightened, and her grip on his hip tightened in return.

He bowed in close. So close, she could count out his individual eyelashes. “You’re certainly one to talk,” he said, his voice low, emerging from far within his chest. She could smell the mint riding on his breath. And that persistent, wild lock of his hair had fallen and was caressing her forehead.

She arched what she could of her body up off the bed and sealed her lips with his, her nose brushing against his. She tried to pull him closer, tried to urge him down onto her, but he was immovable, appearing resolute on maintaining his position. He smiled against her mouth, chuckling. “You’re in such a rush.” She sighed a meek noise of _so what?_ into him. “We still have two hours before I’m due to rise,” he said, his mouth straying down her neck and onto her shoulder.

She groaned, her body helplessly squirming beneath him much to his delight. “So let’s get round one out of the way,” she pleaded, her hips thrusting vainly up into empty air, achieving nothing. Nothing for herself, at least. But something else entirely for him. Because he noticed.

He felt that primitive, carnal-fanged fiend that he kept so well in check, that he kept so severely buried, that looked so identical yet acted so different to him, stir. Instigating rebellion, goading temptation and encouraging captivation. Urging submission, satisfaction, and satiation. Breaking chains, reaching for the controls, and painting need across his eyes, giving him tunnel vision. Blurring everything around him. Everything but her.

He released his hold on one of her wrists, grabbed her leg that was still on the bed and threw it up over his other hip. “Gott, the way you _move your hips,_ ” he snarled against her shoulder with bared teeth, the sound torn and coarse. She was dragging him across that line again: where he lost his polished and civilized veneer, and began to act on instinct. Hot-blooded instinct. An instinct she recklessly continued to fever higher and higher until he burned her.

“I want to say the same about you,” she pushed, taunting him, both of her legs now trying to pull him into her. He sensed the desire to lose surging up within him and he fought like hell against it; his cock pulsating and furious, waging a dirty war against him, outraged he wasn’t simply giving in. There were only so many battles he could fight at one time. And it caused him to become weaker in willpower as he grew stronger in appetite. They were parasites unto one another, each constantly trying to feed off the other.

“Come now, Adi. Let me make you happy. Let me atone for my behavior.”

He leaned back, closed his eyes and groaned. “There’s an order to these things, my child.” At least there should be.

“Are you sure?” she asked, sounding so indecently innocent. “That’s really very silly.” His eyes shot open at his own words. She was biting into her wetted lower lip, her stare so heavily weighted by sex. A drop of sweat from his temple had fallen at the top of her breast and had wandered down the side, leaving a shiny path across her skin. He wanted to trace it with his tongue.

“Don’t do that,” he threatened. Still fighting. Still losing.

“Why?” They simply stared at one another for a long moment, saturated with electricity, each daring the other to make the next move; until she said “I love when your eyes get like this.”

“Like what?” he asked quietly, words stiff and crisp like winter air.

“Out of control,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” he cursed, the word lacking enough power to hit her ears. She only noticed his lips move before he dropped his head and she lost sight of his face. All of a sudden, he collapsed onto her, one of his hands forcing her head back from beneath her chin, holding her immobile; the other hand clutching tightly at her thigh. His mouth was right beside her ear again. She could feel and hear his rugged breathing, wholly unobstructed, the hair towards the back of her neck tickling her skin with its movement. “I want you to love me in the way _I_ want to be loved,” he breathed savagely.

“Always,” she whined. So obvious in her desire, so obvious in her eagerness. Her arms wound around him and snugly held him flush against her body, lacquered nails biting into fair skin. She tried moving her hips beneath him, endeavoring to get herself into a position where she could give to him the friction she knew he wanted. The friction she knew he needed. “I’ll only ever give you more than you expect. Never any less. Never. Never any less,” she panted.

It was a truth neither of them ever questioned.

He nuzzled his face into her neck, greasing her skin up with kisses. She began to whimper drunkenly, his name spilling off her lips. Over and over. A special type of symphony to his ears, but she was rising in pitch and growing in forte and it was still too early, he wasn’t supposed to be awake. The house would be quiet. And curious ears would be alert. This symphony wasn’t written for their ears. Only his. It wasn’t a record he was willing to share. So he pushed three fingers into her accommodating mouth, her tongue sliding erotically against them. Making him realize that it felt the same way, that it moved in the same way, as when she had it against his cock. Making him remember it. Making him envision it.

He could feel her hips stirring beneath him, enticing inspiration within his own. He had to admit, she was correct in her earlier suggestion: it was better to get round one out of the way. Neither of them ever lasted very long. They simply fit together far too well. The heat was always too hot, the energy too great, the sensitivity too high, the itch too demanding. Round one always had the immediate height; whereas round two always had the length. Round one depended on more foreplay. Round two could operate with more intercourse.

But the sheer, blinding, numbing intensity of the orgasm achieved in round two often just couldn’t be matched by the first. It wasn’t that a single round wasn’t great in itself; but if a second round was possible, they never passed up the opportunity.

So a decision was made. His hand on her thigh forced its way between the two of them, grabbed his erection, and before she’d realized what was occurring he’d unceremoniously filled her to the hilt. He felt her jaw stiffen and her teeth plunge into his fingers as vibrations from her pitched groan ripped through his bones. A million things had sprung into action at once inside her. Taking off like a startled flock of doves. He could feel it around his cock, her very blood trembling within the walls of her vagina.

He wasted no time in taking off for that cliff. And he had no plan on stopping. He was going to impetuously throw them both off that fragile, phosphorescent edge immediately. He was merciless and unsparing in his thrusting, keeping her anchored on the mattress with a hand depressing into her hip, the other still at her mouth, fingers pressing into her tongue and bottom teeth. Her nails were haphazardly engraving his skin, inscribing her presence into what was her territory. At each thrust she let slip a small cry; and each time she cried out he nipped at her, which only made her cry out again. A vicious cycle of noise and teeth.

That immediate height was coming up on them, within the both of them. He could feel it, he could hear it. He could feel it in the way her vagina was frantically clutching at him, in the way that distinct physical shimmering sensation was beginning to permeate the veins of his groin and beyond. He could hear it in the way her gasping was growing frenzied and sugarcoated with a guttural urgency, in the way his panting was stumbling and stuttering, losing any semblance of rhythm. It was there, so clear in the way they reflected the shattering of each other’s self-control.

Then, she went silent. Her breathing halted. Her hands were around his shoulders, nails sinking in and breaking skin. Indications that she was cumming and she was cumming hard. He felt her legs around him strangle his hips as she jerked hers up into him as best she could beneath his body. He quickly pulled his fingers from her mouth and fastened his palm over her lips just as overpowering, muscle-crippling bliss tore out from her throat, over and over with each wave that moved through her. He felt her body press even harder up against his.

He could sense his was seconds away, and he knew he needed something to stifle what had been building in his chest. What had been building and was about to break free. Her neck was as good as anything. Better than anything.

He bit. Wide enough that his tongue found tendons and an active pulse. Severe enough that he felt a sharp sensation immediately flare out across his palm in response. Then he realized: her own teeth had instinctively reacted hard to his bite in the way he loved so, so much. And he all but screamed into her warm skin as he painfully swelled; and finally ejaculated daringly deep inside her, the sensation of his semen being released into her with reckless abandon causing her to rake her nails across his skin with fierce and bloody wildness.

But her hips were still moving up against him, imploring his to carry her all the way to the end of a manic road where she would be crying out for him to stop. So he would. He told her by snaking his fingers up into her hair and taking a firm grasp of her feathery locks that he would. He continued to shove her hips into the mattress as she slowly, gradually, timidly began to try to pull back, and pull back, and pull back, and pull back. As she began to still. As she began to freeze. Paralyzed by sensitivity. But he continued to fuck her deep into the mattress even though he himself had gone completely numb just below the waist–he wasn’t sure if there was even any life left in his penis–and she was starting to whimper into his smarting hand.

He flung his hair back again and gazed into her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re set to give in,” he said breathless, his voice flexed; his tone both mocking and provoking. She stared at him, eyes so open, a brief moment of wondering if she’d taken the right path. Then swiftly she shook her head. He grinned. “She’s such a lovely girl,” he said under his breath, more to himself than to her. “Now. Move your hips.”

She whined, exasperated, letting her eyes fall back; but she did as she was told. Vigorously. Aggressively. Determinedly. Determined to please beyond expectations. Driving her hips up against him so violently it made him wince, stroking his own sinister rawness and reawakening vicious sensation; her hips moving too well right up against his own, following and responding to his movements too perfectly, her body meeting his with enthusiasm and a rising desperation. He hadn’t expected such a strong reaction from her right out of the gate. But perhaps that was his fault. Those words of hers were loud in his ears: _I’ll only ever give you more than you expect. Never any less._ He was beginning to sincerely fear she was going to force him out of her.

Then he felt her vagina severely tightening around him again. Fracturing his certainty. Making his body tensed as he pushed himself ahead a defeat that was now only a beat behind his every move. She met his eyes with a brilliant, bold gaze as her legs shifted to hold him closer and force him deeper. Forcing him to the end of that manic road where _he_ would have to cry out for her to stop.

She tore his hand from her mouth and pulled his lips to hers, her fingers wrapping around the back of his neck to keep him fixed to her. And behind her fervent, wild kisses seemed to be a very real and very fierce intention to rob him of all his breath because he soon found himself suddenly, quickly losing it. He was forced to break from her. And the moment he did, he felt her hands flat on his chest; and in an instant, the sight of her before his eyes had abruptly transformed into the ceiling. She’d thrown him off to the side, just as he’d done with her earlier. And he was now on his back, dazed and a little confused.

But she wasted absolutely no time in repositioning herself atop of him, offering him no opportunity to regain his bearings before she easily maneuvered him back inside her. He was hardly sure how that was possible. But his entire body was so over-saturated with endorphins he had no clue as to the current physical state of his body. How was it possible to feel so empty when he felt so charged?

But victory was fast slipping from his fingers. He wasn’t altogether certain what it would’ve looked like–likely her surrendering to the sensitivity before him with a plea for mercy–but he knew enough to realize the adrenaline still raking through his veins wouldn’t be enough to get him there. He was perishing to rawing sensation that coated all inspiration trying to flower up within him.

His hands instinctively moved to her hips with the aim of stilling her. And once she felt his fingertips brush against the skin of her waist, she stole his fingers into her hands and clutched them with an angry intensity. She bent over him and planted her hands on either side of his head, bringing his with them. She drove herself down harder and faster onto him, using the stranglehold she had on his fingers to help reinforce her movements. Her mouth found his again, and with it her teeth found his bottom lip. With a severe bite that drew blood she had successfully and entirely flipped the board against him, yanking him down beneath the power of her own mercy with cut-throat ambition.

It was too much. Nerves sparking past limits, threatening to blow the fuse and knock him out. Woe betide the day she let him forget it was a soldier he’d invited into his bed.

Using all he had left, he managed to jerk free his hands, take a hold of her body and roll the both of them to the side. A one-eighty rotation he used to secure her beneath the weight of his body and restore his position as the director. He abruptly withdrew from her, inhaling through clenched teeth. “Verdammt, Evi,” he hissed. He shut his eyes, his lungs bankrupt, his body all but draped on top of hers as his head rested on her chest just beneath her chin.

What was the score between the two of them again? He’d forgotten. He’d lost track long ago. Years ago. So many matches ago. But she had far too many points, of that he was certain. Which in itself, was a loss to him. She wasn’t supposed to have this much power over him. But for some strange reason, he found himself not caring as much as he felt he should. At what point had he suddenly found her power, her influence, over him to be so sexy? At what point had he started to care less about losing because even losing to her had become fun? When had _that_ change occurred?

If he had to guess: most likely around the same time that _other_ change had occurred.

She giggled, and he simply laid his hand over her mouth, hiding his own amused grin by turning to spread kisses out across her breasts. Then he languidly refocused his gaze back on her and removed his hand from her mouth, a wet stamp of saliva from her lips left on his palm. She was smiling. Reading his mind. “I win,” she said cockily.

“I hadn’t realized love was a contest.”

What in God’s name had made him say _that_?

(And it most definitely was…)

Her eyes were so wide, and glistening so vividly now; and his heart was beating way too fast. Her lips were still wet. He wanted badly to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her everywhere. He wanted to kiss the inside of her wrists, and bury his face in her hair, and brush his nose against hers, and smell the perfume on her neck, and play with the strap to her nightie as she fell asleep perfectly conformed to the shape of his body, and wake up to her running her fingertips against his whiskers.

He wanted snowball fights. He wanted hand holding by the fireplace. He wanted card games and puzzles and table-tennis they both pretended they were almost evenly matched in but each knew she was far more skilled. He wanted someone to do frivolous things with. He wanted fierce teasing and relentless bantering. He wanted someone to occasionally fight with. He wanted someone to worry about. He wanted someone who would worry about him. He wanted someone to sweetly whisper the nightmares out of in the midst of war.

He wanted loyalty. He wanted a conversational vault. He wanted someone to come home to. He wanted a dose of normalcy.

He wanted… well, it seemed he wanted a wife.

He had all these things. And he had all these things with her.

Ah. So that’s what had made him say that. Always doing strange things to him, this one. Stranger things than anyone else ever had. Always messing with the things inside both his head and his chest. Apparently, he’d given her those keys to hold onto. But he really wasn’t in any rush to take them back. At this point, she could simply keep them as her own. It felt kind of nice not having to worry about misplacing them.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me oddly.”

“How do you mean?”

“You look too happy,” she said. Cautious, but pleasantly cautious. 

He had such a problem with transparency around her now. 

But he’d gotten fairly deft at quickly covering up one truth with another. “Well, understand I just had marvelously erotic sex with a ravishing, young girl,” he said. He’d always been adroit with the magic of misdirection. “Naturally, I’m happy.”  His mouth journeyed down between her breasts and the center of her stomach, halting on her mons pubis. “And I’m about to repeat it,” he murmured against her skin.

“Just say the word,” she said, mind already ascending, his lips making her tipsy.

His mouth wandered back up her body, climbing up the side of her neck until it was just beneath her ear. “I’d expect nothing less from _my_ girl,” he breathed. Intentionally intoxicating her blood and her sense of reality further. Tipping her further back into that delicate and delicious pre-orgasm inebriation state that made her cheeks blossom, her nipples erect and her vagina beg all over again. That made her squirm like his fingers were brushing all over her like an ethereal mist. He wanted to groan. She was just so _reliable_. In every single way. 

His words now hushed by the soft, heating skin of her cheek, he said, “I need for you to go into the study.”

“Okay,” she nodded. Her voice was anemic. He sat back and took a hold of her knees, gently pressing them to the bed; and the muscles in her lithe thighs brutally spasmed from being tensed and holding tight to his hips so hard for so long. She released a lengthy, weary moan. Then shakily said, “Ow.” He grinned down at her like a fool. Those words, her favorite words, crept out of his heart, out of his chest, out of his throat, onto his tongue. He could feel them just behind his teeth, wired, jittery, ready to break from of the gate at the first sliver of light. At the first slackening of the reigns. He swallowed, promptly cramming them back into his throat. They would go down no farther.

She lazily rolled to the side of the bed, and lowered her feet down to the carpeting. She rose up, at first appearing unsteady, and he reached out to offer her a hand; but she speedily regained her center before his assistance was required. As she was coming upon the room that would lead her into his bedroom, he stopped her. “A moment, Evchen.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows arched, head cocked, hair tangled chaos. “Bring with you the duvet.”

She tucked her chin down into her shoulder and softly bit her bottom lip. An action that reminded him of the dull ache now troubling his own lip from the bite she’d just given him. She wasn’t supposed to mark him in such conspicuous locations; and even though she knew this was a rule set by him for their love-making, he knew she sometimes very much broke it on purpose. The problem he then too often found himself wrestling with was maintaining the resolve to reprimand her for such infractions. Because it could be so hard to care. Especially when he liked it so much. And _that_ she knew, which did not help.

“All right,” she said, her eyelids weighed by crude, obscene fantasies. He silently watched as she gathered the comforter up in her arms, his gaze haunting her naked body as she dramatically leaned and reached and twisted and arched. He felt something within him trying to pull on his desire. Trying to pull him up off the bed. Trying to pull him closer to her. Up against her. Against the girl who was currently bending over the side of the bed, her thighs flush with the mattress, her stomach only inches above the sheets.

_ Farther. Lean a little farther. Just a little– _

She straightened, the comforter fully filling her arms. His fingers twitched, taken by a rash instinct to push her back down and take her in the same position he’d imagined them in his bathroom. Instead, he mirrored her movement as his own lurid fantasy thinly whispered up into the air like smoke. He hadn’t realized he’d been subconsciously tilting toward her ever so slightly, muscles coiled and taut. A panther ready to jump.

He blinked, his sight now soaking right through the walls, right into his study. The blank canvas before him. The ability to do whatever he liked. The ability to get whatever he wanted. It was entirely his to design this morning. The inside of his mouth was wet. He wanted to run his tongue all over her sugar-sweet body; all over her arms, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. He wanted to hold her legs wide apart and greedily, wantonly consume her need for him as she unremittingly whimpered his name beneath crushing passion: _Adi, Adi, Adi._

“Adi?”

Eyes snapping together like magnets. An instant transaction. And then she knew what he was thinking about. He could tell: that subtle, almost imperceptible smile on her lips. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, the sound frayed. His mouth may have been wet but his throat was dry.

“Don’t be too long. I want to see what’s going on behind those wild eyes of yours.”

_ Cumming inside you so much it’ll drip down your thighs. All day long. That’s what. And they’ll all know, they’ll most certainly all know. They’ll all know just how hard I fucked and fucked and fucked you. They’ll all know because you won’t be sitting for days; because that ache down there, it hurts. But it also reminds you of me; and that makes you want it all over again, doesn’t it. _

_ That is what. _

“Do as I’ve said, and perhaps I will show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really only gets more sinful from this point, so.  
> I also reserve the right to “verb” words.


	3. Endurance

When he finally entered his study, he found her sitting atop his desk, the comforter folded neatly beneath her buttocks. Her feet were swinging back and forth and she was leaning back on her outspread hands, her chest thrust into the air, head resting against her right shoulder. If she thought he was going to be taking her on top of his desk, she was thoroughly mistaken. Not this morning.

“You redressed,” she said.

“Yes.” While she had been waiting for him, he had secretly re-donned his pajamas. For the only reason that he found it particularly arousing when the playing field was slightly uneven–visibly in his favor–between the two of them; when she was so totally and thoroughly exposed to him, but she had to work at getting to his body.

“Do you think that’s fair?”

“No,” he said. “That is why I did it.”

“You really are quite the villain sometimes,” she said, top teeth pressing into her lower lip, her hips imperceptibly wiggling from side to side on top of the comforter.

“Am I?” Well, someone had to be. And she was far too sweet. “I can only conclude, then, that villains make you wet.”

Her knees moved apart, showing to him that his conclusion was beyond correct. He could see clearly the skin on the inside of her thighs and right beside her vagina dimly glittering in the morning light. He was thankful for the foresight she’d had in placing that blanket beneath her before hopping up onto his desk. The clean-up procedure would’ve been annoying. Just a bit. And they would’ve been forced, simply by circumstance, to do it themselves. No going to the housekeepers for that one. Just imagining the suspicious glances and the resulting out-of-earshot gossip made him fidgety.

Her gushing sex was why he so often tried to restrict their love making to leather when they wandered from her bed. But sometimes it simply couldn’t be helped. Circumstances be damned. He’d play maid with her for a few minutes if need be. The sex was worth it.

Though the possibility of leaving behind tangible evidence–undeniable _proof_ –of their secret intimacy at times made his blood race wild. But he’d never tell her that. He could hardly tell himself that. However, something in her eyes during those moments told him she already knew. Apparently he didn’t have to say anything. Occasionally he wondered why she wanted to hear those three little words from him so much if she could so clearly read everything that was on his mind all the time.

She nimbly fell back onto her elbows, widening the spread of her legs even farther. “Adi, will you lick me? Please?” she asked, short of breath, heady.

He shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice light but unmistakably resolute. Her eyes enlarged with consternation and she immediately pushed herself back up onto her hands, her fingers curled into her palms. He could see she wanted to say more, her lips parted slightly, but she wasn’t sure which course would get her what she wanted from him.

He began walking toward the desk then, and his stare turned heavy, his blue eyes creeping up on menacing. He placed a hand next to one of hers and promptly leaned in close, like he was moving in to kiss her; and she jerked back just a bit in reaction to how quickly he’d angled himself toward her. Her pupils were frantically darting between his. She wanted to bring her lips to his but some mysterious instinct wriggling in her tummy was telling her it was best to keep away for now. And it was oddly similar to the one that kept her away from dangerous animals.

“I will not be doing a single thing to you, lovely girl, until you’re off my desk and on this floor.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, her breath slithering down his neck.

“So make your decision and make it fast.”

“There’s no decision to make,” she said hastily, the words tumbling out of her mouth as she shook her head. “I’ll go wherever you want me to, darling.” Words that applied across the board. She meant them in more ways than one.

“Then why have you remained on my desk?”

“Because… well, because you’re in the way.”

His eyes stayed fixed to hers for a long moment. Overtly, carelessly intoxicating her in hypnotism. Then his other hand darted between her legs, moving towards her pounding, aching vagina; and she thought he was going to touch her, that he was going to lay his fingers flat against her clitoris or slip his fingers into her burning sex. But he stopped short, centimeters between his flesh and hers, and she choked on her cry of disappointment. The crimsoning petals of her vagina could feel the heat coming off his fingertips.

“Not a single thing,” he said, breath brushing across her lips, amused in the most sinister way. He stepped to the side and leaned back against the desk, arms crossed. He watched, engrossed, as she hopped off in such a rush she miscalculated the force needed to perform the action and almost fell over herself onto her face. He tried to stifle his snickering by clearing his throat. Whether or not he was successful he did not know. She was giving him no attention, wholly focused on ripping the duvet from the desk and spreading it out as much as she could onto the floor.

Then, sitting with her calves tucked beneath her buttocks and her hands resting on her thighs, knees touching the outside of the blanket, she looked up to him for further instruction. He had to think for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure where he wanted to go at the moment. He should’ve been thinking ahead. All he’d been thinking about was the intercourse while she’d been waiting in here. He hadn’t been entirely focused on the build-up like he so often was when he knew they were about to make love.

Suddenly, she said, “If you won’t lick me, will you let me lick you?”

Should he? He wasn’t sure yet. What did he want right now?

But before he could decide, she had already crawled over to him and had risen to her knees, running her hands over the erection hidden beneath his pajamas. She brought her lips to the fabric, placing energetic kisses over the spot she knew the head of his cock to be, her nails leisurely running up and down the underside of his shaft. His head fell back as his hands dropped and his fingers rigidly gripped the lip of the desk. The room was suddenly tilting perilously, threatening to tip him onto the floor. The ceiling above him refused to stay in one place, so he closed his eyes. There were so many noises he always had to asphyxiate inside of himself when he was with her. And the rage he felt at this only made him harder.

He felt her fingers slip into the waistband, and gently pull down the front of his pajama pants. Her other hand took a firm hold of his cock and she slowly drew her tongue up along the underside of his shaft, starting at the base and traveling up to the very tip. She began making lazy rings around the head before tenderly sucking it into her mouth, her hand sedately but confidently moving up and down his entire solid length. And some of those rhapsodic noises he was trying to smother within his chest escaped as one of his hands shot out onto the surface of the polished desk, helping keep him upright.

With a faint _smuck!_ from her moist pink lips, she released him from her mouth, her tongue delivering a few final, delicate licks. She started teasing him by dropping light kisses down each side of his shaft as she softly caressed his testicles with her other hand, lovingly nuzzling up against his cock. Worshiping, adoring the part of his body that had unearthed a critical dependence to disabling, dizzying bliss. That she treated and serviced religiously on her knees as though it were a sacred altar. Both of her hands slowly drifted up to lay flat against his groin, her fingers moving through his pubic hair as she leaned forward until she was right up against him. She sighed happily as she swept her tongue over his pubic bone, delicately kissing and nibbling at his electrified skin as he struggled to keep his knees from giving out.

Then she gently pushed herself away from his body, her hands still flat against his hips, and immediately, exuberantly sucked him fully into her mouth in one smooth motion. She moaned around his cock, one hand moving to the base as she began to steadily stroke him off with her mouth, and a sonorous groan bolted from deep within his chest. She knew far too well precisely how to make him weak, how to make him _want_ to fall to his knees. He glanced down to see her squirming at the sound of his lawless pleasure. It brought back the image of her on the desk from a moment ago, of what was currently hidden from his sight. Hidden between those swaying hips, between those clenched thighs. Absolute, outright wetness. A wetness triggered only by the sight, the sound, the scent, the taste, the touch, the thought of him.

And it instantly pulled up on that desire within him that had originally driven him into this room. Just how much he did want to fall to his knees, hold her legs apart and lick her. How much he wanted to consume that driving need for him. How much he wanted to hear her beg, and beg, and beg when he continued to pull back and deny, and deny, and deny. How much he wanted to watch her chest rise and fall as he told her to hold off because this was simply foreplay; and he wanted her to cum the instant she felt his cock penetrate her. It pulled up on that desire of how much he wanted to hear her whimpering his name.

But she couldn’t do that with his cock filling her mouth.

His hands went to her shoulders and he pushed her off of him with a huff. Her gaze flew up to his, her mouth still open and very much ready to inquire. But his searing eyes, looking out from beneath his dampened brow as he supported his bowed over frame on her shoulders, his breathing heavily loaded, it all told her everything she needed to know. She crawled into the center of the blanket as he straightened back up, trying to regain a normal pace for his lungs, a normal speed for his pulse. She caught his eyes with ease as she gracefully fell onto her back, her nipples hard like little bits of pink candy beckoning to his tongue.

She had set the word _Patience_ to loop in her head, prepared for a game of stalling and suspension. But it hardly had time to echo twice before he did fall to his knees right between her legs. He grabbed her thighs from behind her knees, and leaned into her so severely he’d flattened her breasts to her chest under the pressure of her thighs. His face was so close she could feel his breath on her lips again; the spread of her legs wide and high beneath the weighty incline of his body, everything just below her hips now on great display.

He leaned closer, until his lips were only a silken-light sensation on hers. “What was it you had been entreating me to do again, Fräulein?” he asked, the nerves within their lips flickering intensely, almost painfully at the nearly nonexistence contact between them.

“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, Adolf,” she panted. Demanded. Impatient and needy. Her fingers speeding down the buttons to his top, clumsily pushing them through the slits in the fabric as a couple caught on the cotton by the haste.

No. Her answer was inaccurate. She was skipping a step. “That is not what you’d asked for,” he smirked, his lips still teasing hers, the fingers around the backs of her knees tightening in their hold. He pressed her legs even harder down onto her chest. Her gymnastic flexibility never failed to unhinge his addiction for her body. “Besides, I’m not confident you’re wet enough for that step.”

“I’m _always_ wet enough for you,” she whined desperately, a great shadow of incredulousness covering her words. She was scowling slightly. He’d already made show of this earlier with pride.

“Show me,” he whispered, and kissed her as she tried to force his opened shirt up over his shoulders. He slid one of his forearms in horizontally behind her knees to maintain her position while freeing up one of his hands. His fingertips floated across her skin: down over her sternum, down over her stomach, down over her navel, down to and resting spread across her mons pubis. “Show me you’re ready for it, Evchen. Show me you deserve it.”

His fingers languidly slipped down between the lips of her sex, and her eyes rolled as she moaned, her legs pressing back against his arm as she tried to raise her hips to meet his touch. He ran two fingers up and down over her blushing opening again and again, thickly glazing his fingers up to the second knuckle in her fluids. Then he effortlessly inserted them into her, pushing forward until his palm was flush against her fevered vagina; and her jaw dropped, her eyes lost their focus, her body jerked up against him. She found herself gagged by a sound of rapture attempting to break out from between her teeth.

The tissues securely ensconcing his fingers in a stranglehold were pulsating hard and hot, and he could see her copious nectar had already reached the blanket beneath. She was undeniably ready for him. No doubt. And his erection was growing painful. But that’s not what this game was about.

He knew she still had more to offer; and his erection hadn’t reached excruciating yet.

He threw her legs back down to the floor and nuzzled his face into the crevice between the bottom of her left breast and her ribs, kissing and nipping at the flesh. His tongue whisked across her ribs to the side of her body, and her hands curled into the comforter. He dropped kisses down the very perimeter of her abdomen until he reached the peak of her left hipbone, sucking her skin in between his teeth until it turned cherry red. Then he harshly bit down. Leaving behind an unmistakable imprint. And she yipped, bit deep into her lower lip in an effort to muzzle the fever pitch.

His mouth casually traveled across her hips, moving low enough that his tongue just barely grazed the top of her tenderly hypersensitive clitoris on its way to her other hipbone. With a frazzled gasp and her hips thrusting up into the air, she begged him wordlessly to cease teasing her in the way he was so determined to. There was too much adrenaline and too much dopamine for her veins to handle, the deadly dose of the cocktail over saturating her heart and her sex. She needed him to release her from its hold.

He’d received this silent request from her many times, and he never tired of seeing it. He answered her by administering the same treatment to the peak of her right hipbone that he’d given to the left: making it blush red before biting into her like pretty, virgin fruit. He proceeded up the perimeter of the right side of her abdomen, arriving at her ribs and traveling over them with his tongue. Mirrored treatments for both sides of her body. Completing a sensual lap.

And before her trembling and tingling nerves–which he continued to pull and wind, tighter and tighter like piano wires, daring her to let them snap beneath the weight of their whirling wonderland–could even marginally reset and resettle back into place, he’d moved the assault to those rose candy nipples. No time for her body to adapt. He was persistent, determined on getting those wires to split.

His mouth enveloped her right nipple, his tongue painting wet circles around it as he took the other between his fingers. Toying with her body, making her arch her back and surrender her breasts to his complete authority. Making her mewl incoherently and plead in soft, high-pitched sounds. Making her body slowly, but even willingly and enthusiastically cave to his control, one territory at a time. He moved to her left breast and proceeded to torment it in the same way, taking her nipple into his mouth but utterly avoiding meeting it with his tongue as his fingers switched to her right.

He took turns keenly, ardently drawing each of her nipples into his mouth, delighting in the way her body squirmed beneath him. And as they reacted more and more to his sensually fanatical and devoted treatment, he graduated from his tongue to his teeth. Nipping, then biting until they had crimsoned, and she had lost all mastery over what sounds were allowed to flee from between her lips.

He moved to briefly place his mouth over hers. His fingers went to both of her now exceedingly sensitive nipples, taking them between his thumbs and forefingers. “I’ve always loved these,” he murmured through slippery, impassioned kisses, pulling up on them until her hands had reflexively latched onto his wrists with her nails biting into his skin. “They’re so… responsive _._ ”

She laughed feebly, her head falling to the side. “They like you,” she sighed out shakily. He could see how weak she’d become, everything but her fingers around his wrists having become utterly limp beneath him like a doll made of cloth, connected at the joints by unraveling yarn. He could see in her heavily intoxicated eyes just how blurry her sense of reality had become, how slack her hold on the world outside of them had become. And it was only this observation that made him realize he’d started to gradually kneel down before this same force. It was far too easy and far too enticing to push the rest of this world into total nonexistence when he was with her.

And he liked this about her. He loved her for it.

Things were so simple with her. So natural. She made him feel like the fate of the world didn’t depend on him. She held his sanity, and of it she was viciously protective. Like no one else was nor ever had been.

He proceeded to heedlessly scattered hickies and love-nips across her breasts, drops of scarlet paint thrown carelessly across her skin. Her war wounds. Personally delivered to her by him. There was an awareness that he didn’t have to keep himself in check, that he didn’t have to hold back because this part of her body would be shielded the moment she stepped out of their realm. And this made him feel unlike anything else. A soft, sprightly sensation associated specifically with her as he looked at her concealed breasts throughout the day knowing he was the only one aware of what secrets she held. What secrets were depicted on her breasts, written across her chest like an admission.

Her entire body had become his personal confession.

A confidential confession. But thorough in detail and exhaustive in description of everything he kept hidden living within his own chest. Hidden in plain sight. The best place to hide his biggest secret. Hardly anyone ever knew what they were really looking at if they came upon his secret because she was written in a language they could not translate. His own brand of hieroglyphics: made of gold, real pretty to look at, sparkling beneath the sunlight, but what on earth did she say? And all they’d ever receive in answer was Egyptian silence.

The only way to read her was to find someone who knew the language. Admittedly, it became fairly easy at that point. But it was persuading those who knew to break their own silence. And that could be far more difficult than it appeared, sometimes impossible. Even still, outside the two of them, no one knew this language fluently _._ They still hadn’t discovered his confession secretly written across her body: the Rosetta Stone.

Finally, she wound her fingers tight into his hair, and he glanced up at her. She was panting hard through her teeth, her eyes tortured by a fiery, lethal mixture of frustration and lust. Her bottom lip had turned wine red, making him think of the wine red lips she held between her legs. She abruptly reached for his hand and thrust it between her thighs, pushing his fingers tight up against her drenched sex. Silently telling him she was ready, she was ready for him, _couldn’t he see and feel how ready she was for him?_

His fingers were still, his stare locked with hers. Against his now strikingly slippery fingers, he could easily feel her pulse, a feature of her body he brought out that he found to be so intriguing, so satisfying. He used her pulse to count long, harrowing seconds, only out of a villainous interest to magnify her ache even further: _Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben…._

She groaned, a shockingly serrated sound; and closed her eyes, her voice pitched to the heavens: “Adi, plea–”

He silenced her by rapidly placing his mouth over hers. His tongue ran over her bottom lip and he tasted a thin ribbon of blood. Lightning tapping on his nerves and bolting through his veins that he couldn’t control. He wanted to make her bleed more. Make her bleed the way she made him bleed. Bestow unto her actual _wounds_. Because she’d love it so, so much. Because it’s what they did to one another.

Then, suddenly spurred on by that thread of bizarre creativity she was responsible for having woven in him, that was at the heart of all his sudden radical cravings, a different idea spawned. A different desire, a different need from before. A dream resurfacing. Stealing his attention. Stealing that pull.

He pushed himself up off her and shifted to one knee. He took a firm hold of her wrist and started moving to his feet, pulling her with him. She was staring up at him through half-lidded eyes. She knew she was confused. She could sense it speaking beneath the heavy, humid haze that now pillowed her mind. But it was hard to hear clearly. Hard to focus, hard to understand, hard to stay in one place in all this shameless lust he’d cast over her. “What are you doing,” she said. Hardly even sounding a question. The words had come from her mouth but she didn’t hold any attachment to them. She didn’t care about the answer.

“Up,” he said. The order clipped and hoarse. She allowed him to haul her to her feet, leaving no trail of resistance. She fell against his chest, knees bent, legs shaking, arms caught between their bodies slick with sweat. His hands grabbed her arms just below her shoulders, supporting her frame. Then after a moment, he roughly spun her around. Hands still on her arms, she suddenly felt his mouth next to her ear. “Walk.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she breathed. She wanted to. She did. But she knew she was walking the edge of falling back to the floor.

His fingers pressed into her arms. “I won’t let you fall. Trust me.”

“All right.”

So her feet moved her forward. And his hands did not vanish from her arms. His body encouraged her on, employing a gentle force as he pushed her ahead; pushed her towards a wall where glass casings had been built snugly into the wall. Casings that housed a handsome looking collection of books, spines maroon and ribboned with gleaming gold.

He directed her past the wide, varnished table with its vase of fresh white flowers and its accompanying cushioned chairs. He directed her until she stood, still swaying on her feet, before one of the bare sections of solid, light wood-paneling that sat between two of the glass bookcases. And there she found two faded images of them in the two cases on either side of the panel. Two glinting copies of the man she loved each wearing a peculiar expression. That sinister amusement. But tenfold. A plan; flashing, fanatical intention behind the eyes.

Sudden momentum. She was falling forward, his hands gone from her shoulders. There had been another force from behind, further encouragement, this time less gentle. Her hands shot up in front of her, palms landing flat against the smooth wood to soften the impact. And then she felt him step up behind her, his body right up against hers. Trapping her to the wall. He delicately pulled her hair back away from her neck, and kissed the hollow beneath her ear. “There,” he murmured, a hand returning to one of her arms. “See? You did that quite well. No need for worry.”

She couldn’t respond. Where words had come from before was now empty, lost. The haze had thickened and was dripping down her body, moving fast, slipping with envious speed across the perspiration on her skin. She shut her eyes. Her fingers curled into her palms, knuckles resting against the hard paneling.

His hand drifted down her arm, jumping from her elbow onto her ribs. The other found her hip and pulled her snug against him, flush to his groin. Still concealed, his erection was pressing rigidly against her lower back, a sensation that was insisting her outright, thorough attention. But this was hard to fulfill because the fingers on her ribs had meandered around to the front of her stomach, just beneath her navel and were straying farther down.

“Spread your legs,” he said, lips still at her ear. And her muscles had tensed and jerked at his words. She’d forgotten his voice was so _close_ , almost inside her. Her concentration had been split and shredded into too many pieces, spread out across her body. He’d scarcely left a single thing behind as a remainder to his previous kiss, his previous words. Only moments ago, but so far away. And she felt him laugh at that wonderful reaction.

But her body automatically fell to his instruction with both her feet moving out to the side. His fingers continued their descent until they hit her clitoris, brushing down with the weight of silk. And she gasped viciously, loudly. She threw her head back into the dip of his shoulder and turned her face into his neck. But he placed a hand to the small of her back and pushed her right to the wall again. “How much do you need it?” he said, punching wet words out from clenched front teeth.

“Ah, _fuck._ ” A response that didn’t make sense but answered his question all the same.

His fingertips swept down between her legs again, longer and lingering but remaining light in force, and she cried out. These brief, fleeting touches were starting to hurt. A prolonged touch was required to soothe the pain that had begun to flare, and flare hot and deep. She needed friction. She needed hard pressure. And every time he stole it away it only delivered agony.

Suddenly, three fingers were urging her lips apart and her jaw dropped only too eagerly. Her tongue was against them, meeting a thick coating of fluid she was surprised to find not unpleasant.  She had never tasted herself before. “Can you feel that?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, moaning immorally around his fingers. She was limp, going limper. Her knees wanted to give in but he was forcing her up, determined to hold her there.

“This is how wet I always want you before I fuck you. Understand?” She wanted to answer with elegance and clarity. She wanted to speak. She wanted to tell him satisfying his desire, meeting his standard, it would certainly be no issue. Never had been. Never would be. But all she could do was eagerly nod.

His other hand wandered back down, fingers brushing the inside of her stupendously saturated thighs. Honey-like fluids had coated her skin halfway down her thighs in a shiny gloss. “Are you ready to cum?” he asked.

Her jaw dropped again, and she responded with too loud and too high of an, “Uh-huh,” through a mouth still stuffed.

He didn’t seem to notice, though. His entire body was solid, stiff and strained from the excitement, the expectation, with his breath filling her ear. The sweet, syrupy scent of her arousal pervaded his focus through the sticky summer heat, making him feel heady and blitzed. And there was a crude, primitive impulse flickering in his core to grip her even harder, to thrust her up against the wall even harder; to handle and fuck her with no regard to any sort of civility or restraint. If only they lived alone. Wholly and utterly alone. He would demand she scream, and screw her until she did so with this same lack of grace. He was already pointlessly searching for a way to make it happen.

Instead, he had to demand silence from her.

“I have two conditions,” he said. He felt her teeth squeeze his fingers, and it was a strong, deliberate effort to restrain himself from simply thrusting into her. Little things. It was always the little things. He’d never told her about the little things. But her body clearly knew well how his worked and always responded accordingly. She always reacted in the ways he wanted her to.

“First, you need to bite back on that enchanting voice of yours. We don’t want it wandering down the halls, do we?” She shook her head, and he kissed her shoulder. “Good,” he said, speaking firmly against her skin, stifling the carnal tremor working into his voice. “Second, you’re going to cum the instant you feel me enter you. I want you over the edge in a single thrust.”

She nodded, enthusiastic, his fingers moving with the motion. He took a step back and moved her hips with him, placing a slight forward bend into her position. Her hands slid out to the side, palms flat against the wood again, bracing her form. He leaned over her, pulled his fingers from her mouth and placed them atop of hers, warm and slick with her saliva. She was staring at his reflection in the glass bookcase again, transfixed by his movements. Her arduous panting was beating against his wrist as she watched his other hand disappear behind her, down between the two of them.

Then his eyes caught hers in the glass without warning. And there was a strange shimmer of fear, as if she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. “You’re terribly tense,” he said, the timbre of his words low and dense.

She had started to shiver, her teeth faintly chattering, strictly from her staggering, crushing desire. “Only a little,” she said, her voice severely, blatantly choked. The lie shining like a beacon of light out of her large, intense blue eyes. Her entire countenance was betraying her. At some point it had crossed over enemy lines, had chosen him over her.

She felt him insert a finger into her, an odd and–she quickly realized–fairly wicked method of teasing her. Finding the point of nerves and giving to them the stimulation they’d become miserably desperate for. But for her current plight, it was only a cruelly inadequate taste of all he was capable of granting her.

He was careful not to give too much friction, too much pressure, too much thickness. He wanted her nerves springing up at every small touch, at even the most pathetic hint of a graze. He wanted them searching. Hunting for his touch. He was intent on solidifying her feeling of dissatisfaction, erecting it to a height that was utterly unbearable. He wanted to remind her what it felt like to have _something_ inside her; but it was to be something she’d explicitly recognize she’d never find any type of release in. It wouldn’t be enough, and this would only torment her further. Make her feel even emptier.

He murmured inches above her neck, “One thrust is all I’m giving you. Are you certain you’re ready?” He only had a single finger buried inside her exploiting those shaking nerves, but her fluids had smothered almost his entire hand.

“God, yes,” she hissed. Her eyes were trapped in his stare. And he was silent, his reflection smirking at her, the shadow of some secret deception falling from his rich blue gaze. She kept trying to grab onto the rhythm of his hand with her hips, but the way he’d positioned the two of them didn’t allow for it. She could only marginally shift and twist awkwardly between him and the paneling.

There was an abrupt, harsh pressure on that delicate, tender spot deep within her; the spot that had been nagging her to start clawing at the wall. But before she could start to genuinely appreciate that sudden rough heat, before it could start to build, he’d stolen it away again. She felt empty again. She felt thrown to the ground again. And she needed to cry out again. She wanted to batter the walls with her voice and her fists.

Deliberately, he’d stayed torturously close to the point within her body that had stolen control from her. And had made that chaos feel so natural, so reasonable; that had sent scalding, searing, scorching needles racing negligently through her blood vessels; that had placed the epicenter of her consciousness, of her current reality, right between her legs; that was urging she relinquish her generous and charitable style of love-making in favor of a much more self-gratifying approach that would find and ignite the physical detonation she was seeking.

All the strength in her slender, sweltering body went to clamping shut her jaw. Lest her own sharp-tongued orders for him to simply get to it accidentally slip from between her lips on a growl. She was praying hard that he was nearing his breaking point; and she knew he had to be. She could see his own fevered arousal thinly blown across his skin, a feral appetite reflected in his eyes; and his breath against her flesh was clipped.

But she remained fixed to his stare and bit down hard into her lip, submitting to the silence. Commitment to the conditions he’d lain before her.

His expression transformed. He’d set them out of the purest sense of selfish desire. A desire to watch her struggle to asphyxiate her own noises; and to feel just how profound, how deeply rooted her physical need was for him. A rival to the influences that vaulted forth and thrived within himself.

And she was plainly aware of this. Her stare on fire, teeth weighing deeper and deeper into that lip, his pleasure was somehow, somehow still written in bold at the top of her list. Whatever she could do to make him hotter and harder.

She never missed an opportunity to amaze him.

He’d been able to determine through all five senses how critically she needed this release. But through all her begging and all her own little power moves, she demonstrated an unmatched expertise to know what he wanted and when he wanted it. She knew when he wanted her to heel; she knew when he wanted her to fight; and she knew when he wanted her to take the wheel and go full throttle. She knew what he wanted, and she always gave it without question because that was precisely where she found her purest sense of pleasure.

And this sentiment had inspired him. He’d once found himself wondering: what exactly would she do if all he was looking for nothing but _her_ pleasure? If all he was looking for was, literally, only a taste of her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, this one made me feel rather guilty. All that shameless, indulgent power-play. There’s absolutely no excuse for any of this. And he had so many paintings in his damn study; it was not easy to find a spot ideal for wall-fucking. Christ.


	4. Zwischenzug

She had proven to be simply _exquisite._ And he’d discovered himself getting off with her in a way he’d never experienced before. Momentarily turning her own selflessness around on her had made her mind utterly dazed, disoriented and disorganized in the most delicious way. She simply hadn’t known what to do, and he’d found that to be wonderfully delectable.

The first time he’d been down on his knees beside the bed. He’d had her lying on her back, her body situated at the very edge of the mattress. He’d held her legs wide apart, his grip on her thighs unyielding as she’d gently squirmed and had somewhat tried to hold her orgasm back as he’d tenaciously assaulted her sex with his tongue. Her fight was honestly rather meager and he’d gotten her off twice before he’d felt any tinge of weariness within himself.

But then he’d gotten up off his knees and like a reflex she had immediately gone for the buttons to his trousers. And he had stopped her. “Not now, Tschapperl.” She had paused, modest confusion in her eyes. Then she’d moved to kiss him, thinking he’d wanted something different. And he’d stopped her. “I said not now.”

Those generous blue eyes had been so big. She’d glanced down to his groin, to the unmistakable erection he’d visibly possessed, and back up to him. “I don’t understand,” she’d said, a hint of worry bleeding into her voice. “I thought we–”

He’d brushed his fingers across her cheek and had tucked her hair behind her ear. “Perhaps later, after we retire for the night,” he’d said, secretly savoring her horrified expression as she’d slowly sunk into the depths of guilt. He didn’t necessarily enjoy making her feel guilty. It was the _reason_ behind her sudden confusion and remorse that he’d perceived to be so interesting. She had believed he was going to be expecting her to return the favor; and she didn’t feel guilty taking from him when she knew he would be taking just as much, if not more, from her in return.

But her face had been transparent as glass: she’d believed she’d stolen from him.

However, that had only been half of the experiment. She’d been all over him that night. Licking and nibbling at his ear, nipping at his neck, gently brushing her teeth along his jaw, slipping her fingers under his shirt and running her nails over his chest, murmuring hotly all sorts of indecent things in his ear as she’d sat in his lap wearing translucent lingerie, moving her hips and grinding herself against his groin. And she’d smelt so good: like misted roses budding under the springtime sunlight.

He’d played along for a bit. He’d encouraged her immoral whispering with all sorts of responses: “No, you haven’t told me that one; but I’m certainly interested in hearing it.” “You weren’t wearing what, today?” “If that were feasible, I surely would.” “You want to get better at that, do you?” “Yes, I remember that night… I remember it very well.”

He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d kissed her lips until they were sore. He’d pushed the straps of her garment off her shoulders. He’d swept his fingers over her hard nipples without exposing her breasts. He’d urged the hem of her gown halfway up her thighs. He’d caressed her hip bones with his fingertips and had noticed her lack of panties. She had hastily shoved the top of her gown down her body until it sat gathered around her hips, and had placed his hands over her breasts. Then he’d felt her hands drifting lower again, making an effort to be covert and stealthy. She’d been moaning, panting heavily against his mouth, hoping everything would draw his attention away from her straying fingers. Hoping it’d force him into realizing what he’d really wanted was her hands around his cock.

But his hands had left her breasts. Gone to her wrists. He’d stopped her. And she had almost screamed, rapidly swathed in the shadow of frustration and disappointment she’d been wishing hard to avoid. He’d felt a little bad, seeing her so genuinely upset. But that had been upstaged by unadulterated giddiness. He _loved_ being right _._

“Why are you doing this?!” she’d hissed, tears seemingly about to break. He’d opened his mouth to start a reply but she had cut him off, words flying off her tongue like shards of ice. “And don’t say you’re not in the mood because I know you are. You’re a man, you can’t hide that, I can _feel_ it.”

Her hand had dropped between her legs and had given his erection a squeeze for emphasis.

It had taken all the strength, all the self-discipline he held within himself to avoid giving her a smug grin. Not to laugh _._ It would have given him away. It likely would have set her off onto one of the worst tantrums he’d ever get from her. Had she known it was all deliberate, calculated, part of a preconceived scheme to kindle this precise reaction within her, the anger she would’ve thrown at him would’ve been very authentic–and extremely acidic.

And that didn’t happen too often. Only when she knew he was intentionally driving her crazy, and not in the way she liked to be.

He’d bitten his tongue. Hard. To keep his own expression from snitching on him.

He hadn’t known what to say. She’d been glaring at him beseechingly as he’d flipped through excuse after excuse, a white fire in her eyes. “I simply don’t have the requisite stamina tonight, Effie,” he’d finally said. He’d watched her shoulders drop like stones and that white flame blow out.

Yes. She couldn’t argue against that one. She was painfully aware of the difference in their libidos. He wasn’t as young as he used to be while she _was_ as young as he used to be, and her appetite was still locked in its youthful stride. He was turning into a more tender, affectionate companion who had developed a larger taste for some of the gooey romance she had exceedingly wanted from him after they’d decided to bring sensual intimacy into this relationship.

Except that romance didn’t always lead as far as she wanted. He liked touching her and holding her and kissing her, and tracing the lines of her body with his finger, and having whispered conversations as they laid in bed together draped in midnight. But all these things didn’t automatically mean sex.

Sometimes, he desired only that and nothing more.

He could sense it occasionally frustrated her. That she wanted to take these two parts of him–the romantic and the sexual–and stitch them together. She’d gotten to know both: the man who was predictable in his sexuality but unpredictable in his presence; and the man who was unpredictable in his appetite but predictable in his attachment. She’d only known them at separate times. Because they had existed at essentially separate times. And it frustrated her because sometimes it didn’t feel fair.

She’d never said this, and he knew she never would. She tried to keep it hidden most of the time, buried far below all her other feelings for him. Which was sweet. However, he had never let on just how much of her he could see, and quite effortlessly. He more or less knew her as well as his own reflection. He only acted like he saw so much. It made living and being with her very entertaining. Because he could frustrate her in an entirely different way outside the bedroom. And he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t one of his favorite emotions on her. She got so riled up, and he found it rather cute she’d allowed him to get so deep under her skin.

But it was a simple fact in their life together. Her drive had always been high and that had been perfect for his schedule. She was always up for sex when he desired it. But reversed, it didn’t work nearly as smooth. He wasn’t always up for sex when she desired it. He couldn’t be. He’d die of exhaustion. So when he was able to give it, he made sure to give it _often_ and give it _good_.

She’d looked so confused and so crestfallen at his reasoning. But beneath all that, he’d been able to see the real root from which all her emotions were stemming from, suddenly so intense and overwhelming with a hint of something new, something strange, something horribly unpleasant. That guilt had prevailed. It had branched into everything else inside of her. It had been feeding and tainting every other emotion with its own sickly sentiment, making them ten times worse than they normally were. Making his rejection ten times worse. He hadn’t only been denying her sex anymore; he’d been denying her the opportunity to repay him, to please him.

And her world had been turned upside down. Interesting indeed.

“But–” she’d started, shaking her head. Her eyebrows had been squished together, and her gaze had flickered erratically from side to side. “I don’t understand. You’re… you’re ready. Why can’t you…?”

He’d chuckled. “Because the human body isn’t so simple, my dear. Trust me, I do wish it was.” She’d still been perplexed, waiting in silence for him to give her more words. “I’ll provide you with an analogy. Imagine you have just enough stamina within you to complete a hundred meter sprint. But you’re not being recruited for the hundred meter; you’re expected to complete the long-distance. The stamina for the hundred meter doesn’t simply vanish, now does it? But it certainly won’t be getting you to that finish line.”

A bald-faced lie. Certainly not at all how the mechanics operated. But she didn’t own a manual; therefore, she couldn’t possibly have known he could’ve easily gotten to that finish line twice that night. No stops in between.

There had been sincere effort put into keeping his stare focused on hers because her breasts had remained uncovered, and her vagina had become exposed during the fuss. Her knees had still been lodged on either side of his hips. A glance to her body and he’d known he would’ve decided, _ach_ _fuck it_ , and unceremoniously thrown her onto the desk.

“Then we don’t do long-distance, tonight,” she’d mumbled. “We’ll do the sprint.” She’d placed her hands over the inside of her thighs, thumbs resting so close to her open sex. Right where she’d known he’d be wrestling with the urge to instruct she touch herself as he watched on.

“The long-distance is sex, little one.” His words had been slightly strangled. Her eyes had turned into less and less of a refuge. Inventing and inviting lewd visions. Asking him if he had indeed wanted her to start touching herself for him there on his lap as she’d tilted toward him.

Much to his vexation, she’d caught the fleeting _yes_ that had flashed across his eyes. “Then what’s the sprint?” she’d said as she’d effortlessly slipped the middle and ring fingers to one hand inside her.

“This. All that we’ve been occupied with.”

She’d cocked her head in the way she did in so many of his fantasies. She’d put her other hand against his shoulder and had leaned into him. “So, you have the energy to fool around but not for sex?” she’d asked, then looking down upon him as she’d withdrawn her fingers from her sex, and had softly lain them at the center of his lips.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he’d breathed under her wet fingertips. He’d known better than to slowly open his mouth, suck her fingers in between his teeth and run his tongue against them. But he’d done it anyway.

He simply hadn’t been able to help it.

–    –    –

But they’d been lies. Lies for the purpose of his experiment. And for those next five days, he’d been engaged in a competition with an opponent who hadn’t even realized she’d been participating. He’d used her own strategy against her, diligently stepping around all of her intimate invitations while simultaneously drawing the threads of her sanity dangerously thin. Almost erasing them absolutely.

He’d continued to sleep up against her in her bed, his lips touching the nape of her neck as he’d intentionally exhaled through his mouth. He’d purposefully caught her eyes from across the room and had held her stare until she’d had to drop her eyes to the floor, run from the room, and reappear twenty minutes later mysteriously flushed. He’d gone light on the hair tonic, shaved with the utmost precision, worn her ties, donned her cufflinks, and had even coordinated the patterns of his ties with his suits and the colors of his socks with his shoes in the ways she’d always nagged him–just to mess with her. He’d even gone into the back of his shoe closet to dig out one of the pairs she’d bought him that he’d always refused to wear.

She’d been stunned. All she’d said was, “New shoes. They look nice.” (And they had. But they’d gone straight back into the box after all this. It was simply the principle of the matter.)

And it was a mean and dirty move, but he’d gone into her closet one morning while she’d bathed and had dabbed her clothing with his cologne. He’d wanted her smelling him all day, no matter where she went. But he hadn’t wanted her to understand why.

By chance, he’d seen that one in action. He’d peered out the window onto the terrace for no real reason and had seen her mingling with the women. But she’d been searching. She’d made the action seem unaffected, like she was only letting her eyes wander naturally about the scenery. But the bewilderment on her face; the way her gaze kept straying to the steps up to the terrace or to the door of the Wintergarten; the way her eyes kept flickering like she was on alert and waiting, it had been clear to him. He’d known exactly what she was doing: she was looking for _him_. She’d been getting incessant hints of his scent, of his nearness, but every time she’d looked about he was nowhere to be found and it hadn’t made sense.

And that had gotten him excited in all sorts of ways.

–    –    –

The second time had been more difficult. He’d tied her insides into so many knots from his ceaseless tormenting that he’d found her one evening in that transparent lingerie again, lying sprawled out on her bed. She’d had her eyes closed and she’d been whimpering, breathing hard, heaving as though the room had been far warmer than it was.

“Tschapperl?” Her head had shot up. Her eyes had snapped open, almost bloodthirsty in their wildness. Perhaps he’d pushed her too far. “Are you not well?”

“No,” she’d said with both fists and jaw clenched. “I’m hot. I’m always so hot. And I hurt, I actually _hurt_. God, I feel so empty down there and it just hurts.” Her head had fallen back onto the mattress in pitiful resignation. She’d covered her eyes with her palms and had quietly whined, “Adolf, I don’t know what to do.”

_Ooh, she’d dropped the nickname._

“Allow me to offer a suggestion.”

Her hands had dropped and she’d sat up so quick her hair had swung in front of her face. “What is it?” she’d asked, brushing the hair from her eyes, drenched with both hope and lust.

He’d bent over, one hand behind his back, and had patted the edge of the bed with the other. A pronounced look of ominous delight highlighting his features. “Come over here and sit.”

She’d leaned back somewhat, suddenly hesitant, her eyes narrowed. “Why?” she’d asked in a voice weaker and cooler than the one she’d just punched out with an impressive fire.

“So I may take care of you, child.”

“How?” He’d simply smiled at her, intentions wholly unambiguous. And she’d started shaking her head. He’d starved her of sex all week, but the trick he’d pulled on her five days ago had still been crystal clear through all that fog. Precisely what he’d been counting on. “No, I can’t. I don’t like it–”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I do, but–”

“Then what is your concern?”

“My concern is you, I guess, the way–”

“Me?”

“Yes, you won’t let me…”

“… I won’t let you what?” He’d wanted to hear her say it.

“You won’t let me do the same to you.”

“I’m afraid I do not follow.” More and more lies.

He’d gone over to her bedroom door to close it, and had loudly fastened the lock.

Her eyes had been glued to his hands, still on the lock. Then she’d said, “You won’t let me take you in my mouth.” Her body had been blushing all over, steeped in arousal. Her hands had hit the mattress and she’d given a terse sigh. “You won’t let me use my mouth, you won’t let me use my hands, you won’t use any part of me. And it doesn’t feel right. Me getting everything and you getting nothing.” She’d almost sounded disgusted with herself, which he hadn’t been expecting.

He’d raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t recall having stated I was getting nothing.”

She’d snickered sardonically, and had given him a flat look of disbelief. Her eyes had followed him as he’d neared the bed again. “No; but I know you,” she’d said dryly, brusquely.

Rude.

If he hadn’t already felt like proving himself capable of anything and everything, her snarky assumption making definitely would’ve done the trick. Who was she to tell him what he was or was not getting out of what he did to her? She didn’t get to make those decisions–her hold over him and his body wasn’t _that_ great. Did she think she was being cheeky?

No. He’d decided there had been no more decisions for her. Not that night.

He’d taken a firm hold of her ankles and had yanked her toward him, toward the edge of the bed again. She’d yipped and had fallen onto her back from the sudden force of the movement, her arms landing above her head and the lingerie riding up to her ribs. He’d let her feet drop to the floor and had bowed over her, his hands on the mattress on either side of her shoulders. He’d been looking directly down on her, his stare strict and serious. Strangely disciplinarian. “This bitter tone of yours certainly leaves something to be desired.”

“I just need you inside me,” she’d said quietly. “Please.”

He’d touched his lips to hers, and had kissed her softly. Confusing her further, his emotions and his approach seemingly all over the place. “Feet on the bed,” he’d instructed, his tone hard and deep.

She’d hesitated, and he’d frozen the kiss against her lips in response. A silent reminder. Until she’d tentatively complied, placing them up on the edge of the mattress. He’d been able to see it in her face and in the way she’d moved: how much she’d both wanted and dreaded having his mouth between her legs again, knowing the likelihood that he would once again rob her of the chance to fulfill his desires had been very high.

He’d hooked his fingers around her panties, wrenched them down her legs and had thrown them straight to the ground. He’d aggressively flung her feet wider apart, gripped her thighs and had jerked her right up to the very edge of the bed. Then he’d taken a hold of her ankles again as he’d gotten down on one knee beside the bed, and had placed her feet flat against his chest. She’d been staring down at him, anxious and unsettled, but her breathing rough and fast from how much he had inflamed her fundamental need for him.

He’d met her gaze, resolved and unwavering, and had tapped the little mounds on the outside of her ankles with his index fingers. “You move these,” he’d said in a velvet voice, “and I leave you in the mediocre company of only your own fingers for the remainder of the evening. Do we have an understanding?” She’d nodded eagerly, her wide eyes having been captured by salaciousness. She’d needed this far too much to argue any longer. He’d grinned at her and had kissed the inside of her ankle. “Excellent.”

Then he’d placed his hands onto the inside of her thighs and had pressed them down as close to the mattress as her body would allow him, completely opening her up to him. Daring her to let her feet slip from his chest. But her feet had held sturdy while her thighs had given his hands no resistance. His mouth had begun to slowly wander up the inside of her right thigh, and he’d felt her toes curl against him as her hips twitched involuntarily atop the mattress, anticipation having quickly obtained ownership of her body.

He’d known her sex was going to demand barely anything from him to deliver her the orgasm she needed; and he’d been looking forward to it immensely. For days he’d been running the fantasy over and over in his head, which admittedly hadn’t been very wise or prudent of him because he’d been filled with just as much sexual frustration as she’d been. The only reason he hadn’t dragged her into bed sooner was because he had known there was an endgame to all this. And he’d been certain it was truly going to be worth it.

But that hadn’t put a stop to the persistent and somewhat unpredictable erections he’d had to endure. Far from it. His perpetual teasing of her had had some residual backfire. In order to make her hot, he’d needed to do some things that… well, inevitably made him hot too. It was one of the intrinsic laws to such attraction: this was a two-way street. Unfortunate for situations such as this.

And he’d been suffused with an erotic energy that had resulted in lewd, round-the-clock daydreams relentlessly interrupting all his other thoughts.

Images of her having sauntered up to him and having gotten into his lap as he’d worked in his study. Of her having slid down to her knees under his desk when he’d tried to tell her he’d had work to finish. Of her having slowly unbuttoned his trousers as she’d said, _that’s fine, just pretend I’m not here;_ and him having attempted to do just that: withstand the movements of her hand and then her mouth. And finally having had to throw his pen onto the desk. Of sitting back in his chair as he’d stared down upon her with a look of disapproval that had rapidly been colored over by lust as she’d given him a smug grin.

Images of nights he’d stayed up far too late, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb her sleep; and of her having sneaked into his bedroom because she’d woken up alone and needy. Having suddenly woken to her crawling in beneath his blanket as she’d situated herself over his body; her fingers having found his lips in the solid shadows, and then her mouth on his. Her fingers having fluttered downward to find and free his cock, and producing the erection she was so urgently seeking to ride. The two of them having relied completely on their roaming, wandering hands because their bodies had been sheathed in utter darkness under a blanket surrounded by night.

So he’d been forced into doing what he’d never done with her around before, because he’d never had to do it. She was always available and ready for sex. Masturbation wasn’t something that had ever crossed his mind when he was home with her–and why should it? There was an endless amount of far grander avenues at his disposal. And he knew, even if he didn’t feel like putting much labor into it she’d happily provide all that was necessary. Because she didn’t care, any sex was great sex to her as long as he was the one penetrating her, and hardly more than that was required to get her off. She was spectacular in both hot sex and sweet, casual sex, which he’d found to be a little staggering. She loved both.

But in order to stay on track and follow through with his experiment, he’d really had no choice. It hadn’t been sensible to fantasize about what this had been doing to her and what it was _going_ to do to her but he’d done it anyway. And he’d discovered constantly pushing her buttons to be more arousing than he’d originally predicted. Naturally, he’d counted on her pawing at him and climbing all over him once they’d retired for the night; but the dreaming and teasing had left him less prepared to deal with it than he’d expected.

He’d gotten too close that first night to giving in. He’d gotten lucky she’d swallowed his bullshit story and hadn’t pushed him any further. Had she gone for his trousers a second time, he wasn’t sure he would’ve stopped her. He’d been throbbing viciously, and had been a tad surprised she hadn’t felt his precum soaking through the fabric beneath her. But perhaps she had easily mistaken it for her own generously flowing fluids.

Precautions had become necessary. He’d needed to preemptively strike the power from within what little ammunition she’d possessed. She hadn’t possessed much but in the state he’d been in, it wouldn’t have taken much to destroy him. So he’d bought himself insurance by secretly masturbating to his elaborate, divine reveries of the endgame just before he’d retired to her bedroom with her. Just before he’d gone to torture her with seemingly innocent little actions.

The whole time, she’d never known he’d had a step up on her. She’d never known he’d arrived to her room already physically contented. But that’s all he’d been: content. He hadn’t been fulfilled or satisfied in the truest sense of either word. Only content. Only a single step ahead. Only enough to drive him through those five days as she’d tried with all her might to make him stray.

His tongue had run along the meeting between her thigh and her groin. Her hands had gone to the top of her lingerie and had yanked it down over her breasts. She’d firmly clutched them in her own hands and had taken her nipples between her fingers, lightly twisting and pulling at them as she’d moaned as though she’d been in pain. He’d slowly planted firm kisses along the very edge of her dripping wet sex, his lips occasionally grazing the sensitive tissue with a feather-light touch, and he’d felt her slightly press against his chest with her feet. Her back had been arched high off the bed and her hips had been driven deep down into the mattress as he’d gathered all the nectar that had escaped. She’d moved one of her hands above her head and had fisted it into the covers; and while she’d been attempting to remain still, her hips had begun to try to thrust up towards him.

He’d severely teased her by coating her buzzing skin in kisses precariously close to her clitoris; and then, unexpectedly, he had faintly brushed his tongue from one side to the other just below it. And she’d released a sharply jagged, shuddering whimper. He’d lifted his head and had begun delicately petting her pulsating sex with only his fingertips. “Are you ready?” he’d asked in a calm manner. He had felt hard enough himself where all she would’ve had to do was straddle his lap and fiercely grind against his erection for thirty seconds. So where she was at this point, he could only imagine.

But she’d looked down at him with her teeth sinking concerningly deep into the inside of her bottom lip. “Only if you…” and the rest of her words had gotten stuck in her mouth.

He’d leaned closer and had turned his head a bit. “Come again?”

“Only if you let me do the same,” she’d panted strenuously, louder. “To you. Some way. _Any_ way.”

And a weightlessness had swept through his brain, bringing with it a dizzying, tingling sensation. Because the fantasies he’d been having all week had instantaneously materialized around him, whisking over the image of his reality like brand new colors of paint. Everything from his daydreams he’d suddenly been able to hear, touch, taste and smell. It was no longer simply a titillating vision, it had all become real.

She’d proven his theory correct. She was going to fight him.

Oh, how he _loved being right._

“And if I refuse?” he’d challenged, looking deliriously devilish, blue eyes radiant and fully manic. He’d teased her by pushing two fingers into her half an inch, and had bent down to gently blow across her open sex.

Her muscles had tensed, and her fingers had coiled into her palms. “Why would you?!” she’d seethed, words clipped short to a razor-fine point.

“Because it’s not what I desire.” His own voice had been on a perilously sharp ridge of an enthusiastic hiss. He’d been playing off her reactions, only landing on the other end of the spectrum. She’d been infuriated while he’d been enchanted.

But she’d had a dangerous mixture of vexation, frustration, lust and rejection building within her and he’d seen it abruptly reach detonation stage. “I don’t understand this! Are you not attracted to me anymore?” The word _me_ had cracked hard. She’d genuinely looked heart-broken, and that hadn’t been what he’d been after at the beginning of all this. He hadn’t considered that’s where her mind would go but once she had said it, it had seemed rather obvious. Of course she’d translate his avoidance of her body as lack of interest. Of course she’d translate his out-of-character experiment as lack of interest.

He’d always been more than willing to take from her in the past. Of course she’d assume he no longer wanted sex from her instead of seeing the simplest answer. Because the simplest answer was unlike him, which is precisely what had made this entire experiment so engaging. He’d been having so much fun playing with her body and especially her mind, confusing and bewildering her to the moment she’d become totally disoriented.

And she’d gone straight to _he’s no longer interested._ Of course. He should have expected that, all things considered.

He’d kissed the inside of both her thighs, over and over, all the way down to the inside of her knees. His gaze had been stern, absolute; his grip on her legs tight. “Evchen, I’m severely attracted to you,” he’d rasped against her smooth skin. To the extent that he’d known it certainly couldn’t be good for him. But it was too hard to change something that worked so well and felt so damn good. He hadn’t been sure it was even possible anymore. It had gone on far too long. “You know this.”

And she knew it well. It had been a silly question.

He’d been able to hear the stifled sobs that were threatening to claw their way out of her chest. The volatile combination of exasperation and arousal, and the unmitigated amount of the two swirling violently within her had started to provoke angry tears. Which had only angered her further because she hadn’t been sure exactly why she was crying–was she angry, confused, relieved, what?–and she especially hated crying when she was with him. He wasn’t a fan of it either. He didn’t like the sight of it. It made him uncomfortable, and tugged at his sleeve like he should do something. But he wasn’t always entirely sure what that something was.

He didn’t like women crying on the whole. But he particularly didn’t like seeing her cry. No matter the situation, ever since that final unnerving stunt with those sleeping pills, there was always this tiny albeit harsh voice within his ear asking, _What the hell did you do now? Is this what you’re best at: making her miserable?_ He didn’t like feeling responsible for her grief. He actually far preferred being the reason for her jubilation.

“Why won’t you let me love you back, then?” she’d asked, her voice having sounded as thin and strained as a swiftly unraveling wire. “I know you need to cum too, you wouldn’t be doing this otherwise.” She’d been so wholeheartedly baffled by all this, the obvious, most straightforward answer still completely invisible to her.

Only because when she looked at him, it didn’t seem to make sense.

“Incorrect,” he’d said; and had leaned forward to envelope her clitoris in his mouth and overwhelm it with fast, firm strokes from his tongue while simultaneously slipping three fingers into her to expertly stimulate her G-spot. Her feet had immediately slid down off his chest until her toes had lodged in beneath his ribs and she’d been pressing into his abdomen. She had somehow managed to pull part of the blanket over her mouth and had been tearing into it with her teeth as she’d tried to muffle her thick, harsh groans from the sudden crushing weight of total euphoria. Her eyes had been open wide and she’d been staring directly up at the ceiling, unblinking. Her breathing had been irregular, coming in rigid gasps with long, silent breaks between each one. Her hips had thrust up towards him once as best they could, and had remained frozen as he’d continued to go at her diligently with his tongue and fingers.

He’d known she wouldn’t demand much. And she’d proven him correct yet again. She seemed to have a penchant for that.

Then, after being paralyzed and muted for over a minute, every single muscle in her body gave out all at once and she’d collapsed utterly limp onto the bed. She’d lain there heaving, coughing from the fabric in her mouth, as he’d slowed his motions and lightened his pressure. But his mouth hadn’t left, his tongue still caressing her clitoris with gentle, insistent strokes; and his fingers hadn’t withdrawn, still focused on directly massaging that most viciously reactive spot. Her hips had been gingerly moving of their own volition in rhythm with his fingers, deciding for her that she hadn’t been ready to let them go. Betraying her and telling him, _don’t listen to whatever she’s about to say. There’s another diamond to be dragged out of this mine._

Hips still moving, she’d whined feebly, “Adi, stop, I can’t….” Her head had fallen to the side and she’d had her eyes closed. Her feet had still been at his abdomen, lightly pressing against him in tempo with his movements.

He’d removed his mouth but had kept his fingers going, assuming control over her nerves as they’d started to snap back together and draw themselves tight. “Nonsense. You can.”

She’d shaken her head unsteadily, and had wearily opened her eyes. Her cheeks had been shiny and bright pink. Glimmery from her tears. But the sadness had been wiped clean from her expression. She’d been drifting along on cloud nine. And he’d found himself wondering what those tears tasted like; and if he went and licked her cheeks, would he be able to nibble and bite at them too?

No. Too conspicuous.

Still…

“I need it to be your turn, now,” she’d said meekly. “Please, I want it to be.” Her tone had been threatening to cross the line into begging, and he’d had to sink his nails into her thighs to hold himself in position. To hold himself in his determination. To see the experiment through to the end.

“ _I_ want you to cum,” he’d responded instead. “Make me happy, Evchen; I know you want to.” Putting more and more pressure on that instinctive altruism of hers. More and more until he saw to it that it snapped to pieces beneath his fingers, and he saw her drowned by the tidal wave of bliss she had desperately been striving to out run. “Do it again. Let me see you cum again.”

Conflict had been cavorting within her. She’d grabbed a shaky breath, and had started shivering, squirming, slightly trying to move away from him–while simultaneously starting to gradually drive herself harder onto his fingers, her body having realized before her mind that it was starting to feel very good again. Opposing forces, vying for authority. She’d gripped onto the comforter below her. “I can’t–”

“No, you are lying,” he’d interrupted, and had re-intensified the pressure within his fingers, thrusting harder into her for emphasis. He’d been ruthlessly stroking her still tender, tingling G-spot, expertly reconnecting all the wires within her. And the electricity had again started to surge and scatter freely from his fingers, pressing her to the voltage where she beautifully sparked out.

Her hips had reflexively jerked up, and with it her feet had jammed into his abdomen, accidentally forcing the air right out of his lungs. He’d used his free hand to grab her ankles and move her feet out from under his ribs, sliding them back up onto his chest. He’d awoken the next day with faint bruising; and while he’d told her again and again that he was fine, all she’d wanted to do was rest her head on his abdomen and caress his skin and dress his “wounds” in kisses. Which he’d been all right with for the most part. He’d been so tired.

“I’m not–!” she’d gasped, and had wrenched the comforter. Her eyes had been squeezed shut and she’d been grinding her teeth, breathing hard through them. But she had been lying. He’d known well by now the difference between when she was finally too raw to continue on and when she was starting to escalate again. And he’d been able to feel the walls of her vagina trembling around his fingers, grabbing at him and trying to hold him in. Trying to draw him in. Trying to pull him to that collection of nerves. She’d been trying so hard to prevent the orgasm she’d finally known was coming, and was coming fast. All because he hadn’t gotten his yet; because she’d reckoned he wasn’t going to let her gift him one.

“Come now, Evchen,” he’d coaxed gently, running his tongue up the inside of her thigh, teeth grazing skin. “You will.” She’d tried to turn a jumble of sound fragments into what had sounded like a denial, but in the state of mind she’d been in she clearly hadn’t had the capacity to fit any of the pieces together. But he’d understood the general sentiment through his amusement; and had given her his final push, whispering hotly right up against her drenched, pulsing sex, “You will cum to _satisfy me_.”

If anything was an effective wrench to throw into those selfless gears of hers, it was that. She would do anything and everything for him–but could she go against her own primary instincts and take from him without giving back, even when supposedly that was exactly what he wanted from her? When all he was apparently seeking was her pleasure? The two sides within her had merged beautifully, attempting viciously to pull her in both the directions: hold off for him, or let go for him?

Then he’d felt her snap.

He’d watched, enraptured, as all those little strings that held her together unravelled exquisitely right before his eyes. As her mind had collapsed and looked to her body for direction. As her body had simply allowed her to plunge into a passionate, frenzied, wet and wild madness. As every one of her movements had become utterly spontaneous, involuntary and uncontrolled because she had lost any semblance of conscious authority over her own body. She’d lost control of the wheel and could only be along for the ride.

He’d watched as she’d writhed and bucked upon the mattress, her hips instinctively driving themselves closer toward him as she’d cried out over and over. He’d pinned her hips to the bed by firmly lying his forearm horizontally across her hips, wanting to still her completely. And with his tongue, he’d continued to inflict onto her clitoris a pleasure so sharp in its intensity her body had finally been forced into pushing his mouth off, an action entirely subconscious on her part. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it. But he’d been steady in maintaining the driving rhythm of his fingers within her as he’d observed her exquisitely prostrate form.

He’d slowly, carefully leaned forward again, studying her with an fierce, fiery gaze as she’d lain there, heaving. Her eyes closed; the Devil in his own. Then he’d immediately shifted all his weight to his forearm, keeping her hips fixed to the mattress, and pressed one of her thighs into the bed with his other hand to keep her wholly open to him. To his tongue.

An unanticipated force of brutal, debilitating ecstasy had met her sex. Her feet had dropped to the floor and her entire body had, on instinct, tried to tear itself away from him. “ _Fuck!_ ” she’d cried out, hands pushing deep into the bed, feet into the carpeting, as she’d attempted to force herself out from beneath his immovable hold. “ _Adolf I can’t you have to stop I really can’t,_ ” she’d said, her words fast, frantic and faltering, voice covered in vibrato. Her eyes had been so panicked. Her breathing so ragged.

He’d smiled and had given her clitoris a hard kiss, which had made her yelp and her body jerk. He’d shaken his head. “I don’t think so,” he’d said casually, his fingers drawing soft circles across the skin of her thigh. “I think I would prefer for you to do it once more.”

She’d shaken her head right back. Vehemently. “I’m not lying to you. Honest.”

He’d met her eyes. “I didn’t say you were.”

“Then–”

“I said it’s what I would prefer.” She’d stared at him, a glaring line of contrast cut between his even gaze and her nervous one. “Did we not just go through this same routine but a few minutes ago?”

“I really don’t think I can,” she’d said quietly.

“I really do think you can,” he’d said confidently, bending forward to place kisses along the inside of her thigh. “And I do think you will–no, I know you will. Because it’s what I want. And you live to give me what I want, don’t you.”

Her head had fallen back onto the bed, and her eyes had shut tight. “Oh, God,” she’d whimpered. Because he’d been correct. She hadn’t in the past and she wouldn’t in the future ever let go of an opportunity to satisfy him. No matter what he was seeking from her. The narrative of her life had quickly and thoroughly been written right around him. His needs and his wants became hers, and if it was within her power she saw to it they were fulfilled. Within his happiness lived her ultimate bliss.

And they’d both known she’d had no desire or aim to change that status. She’d go forward into whatever challenges he put before her; and she’d surmount them. She always had.

With his mouth moving against her skin, he’d murmured, “That’s what I thought.”

“We could switch,” she’d panted laboriously as he’d crept nearer and nearer to her vagina. “Allow me to use my mouth on you. And then you could return to… this… if you truly wanted.”

He’d rolled his eyes, his tongue and his teeth liberally exploring the valley between her leg and her groin. “Except where’d be the fun in that.”

She’d looked down between her legs instantly, incredulousness owning her soft, rosy features. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“Liar.”

“Never in all my life.”

“Really? I’d appreciate an answer to a question, then.”

He’d halted, his lips caressing her sex just beneath her clitoris. He’d glanced up to her. “All right.” Patience had been fast evaporating.

“Why are you doing all this?”

Firmly, leisurely, he’d moved his tongue up over her clitoris, and she’d given a sharp hiss. “Is it not obvious?” he’d asked. He’d delivered to her another bittersweet stroke. “I love watching you squirm like this,” he’d whispered across her vagina, his lips and tongue moving against her clitoris as he’d formed his words. Then he’d leaned back. He’d removed both his hand from her thigh and his arm from across her hips. She’d groaned as he’d easily slipped two fingers deep into her, sweet and thick fluids from her orgasms still surviving within her saturated sex. “However, I would bet you could will yourself to remain still and open for me. My force isn’t necessary is it? And that, Evchen, is the best part to all of this.”

“I think you’re taking advantage of this relationship,” she’d said. The statement had fractured in multiple places due to the fingers that had started to harass her G-spot yet again, curled up against the roof of her vagina; pulling at the tingling, numbing nerves.

“To a degree, perhaps.” He’d increased the pressure, increased the pull, and the loveliest sound had clawed its way out of her throat. He’d been drawing the numbness out one thread at a time, and slowly stringing the taste for stimulation back into her. Compelling her up over that hill of discomfort and pain to the carnal rapture awaiting her return on the other side. “But you mustn’t forget that you’ve been physical pleasure’s sole subject tonight.”

“I never asked for that,” she gasped.

“You didn’t have to,” he’d said. “I was simply feeling generous. And your reaction to that has been extremely interesting.”

“All of this has been to get a _reaction_?”

“Of course.”

“That’s just mean!”

“I don’t see how. All I’ve done is focus on you,” he’d said, having bent forward and spoken thickly in an almost whisper against her tender, fevered vagina. His tongue had drifted up until it had just scarcely tapped the bottom of her clitoris; and her body had twitched with toes clutching at the carpeting. She’d tried to stifle a tight lipped whine. But her legs had stayed open.

“But I never–”

“Enough talking.” He knew her well. And he’d known precisely what she’d been doing, what she’d been attempting. “Stop trying to distract yourself; and more importantly, me.” His eyes had jumped up to her, and he’d seen her jaw drop slightly. Had seen the argument in the silence she’d been about to make. But she’d seen the silent admonition he’d given in response to her mute reasoning and her head had fallen back to the bed.

And that’s how it had progressed. He’d thrown her higher and higher until she’d felt she could rise no more. Until she’d been convinced she’d hit a ceiling. And she’d been emitting tattered and dispirited statements that she simply couldn’t do it, she couldn’t push herself over. Each and every time her body had gotten itself to what she’d believed was the ultimate peak, she’d held and held–waiting for the promised fall into one last wind of euphoria. But when it didn’t come, the weight had proven too much and she had plunged back to the ground. She’d been convinced she was stuck in a box, going nowhere, and he’d needed to give up.

Instead, he’d proven the ceiling to that box to be made of glass. And after raising her to that pane again and again and again and again, she’d finally felt something crack; and he’d risen her once more and had broken her through. Glittering shards and all, flashing across her eyes and piercing her skin. It’d been sharp and it’d been deep, vaulting forth from some far down, dark and unexplored place somewhere just below her stomach. She’d thought she was going to scream, but she’d opened her mouth and nothing had come.

She’d known it had hurt. She’d felt the pain. But it’d been distant. Blurred and faded by a dense, luminous yellow fog, the pain only sporadically cutting through like lost birds. Delirious bliss had been erupting above and around her, splashing down onto her, drowning her until she’d been fully immersed, suspended upside down. And as she’d sunk farther down into that heavy ocean of madness, she’d felt the residual tears from before sneak out and brush down her cheeks.

He’d been watching her. Watching attentively. Watching as she’d drowned within the massiveness of her own pleasure, the magnitude having been under his direction. And he’d seen those tears steal across her flushed skin. He’d succeeded in forcing her into such a state that her body was involuntarily responding in all sorts of sweet ways.

Dazed, disoriented, disorganized. And delicious.

Before what he’d done had even registered, he’d already thrown her knees to the side, sprung up onto the bed, crawled over her paralyzed and gasping form, and had been kissing her sticky, fevered cheeks. He’d kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her; and on the other side had kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. His tongue had run across his lips, and like a shark in bloodstained water, a thirst for more had emerged. He’d licked the tears from her cheeks, the mellifluous purring sounds lifting from her mouth as she’d swooned helplessly beneath him causing his heart to pound frantically and painfully.

He’d felt seriously and alarmingly drunk. Weak. A marionette held up only by strings, dependent and unsteady on such thin threads. Endorphins had perfused his veins so intensely his body had fallen to a strange, rushing, and absurdly overwhelming emotional release that had left no part of him unaffected. But there had been an accompanying sensation–edging on a belief–that if he were to have leapt from a cliff at that moment, oh he would most certainly have flown. Gravity had possessed no power over him. No breed of physics had. He’d been untouchable by all laws and all forces, human and natural alike. He’d felt physically weak but spiritually, he’d felt immortal.

Then he’d realized, he’d gotten off; yet he’d still been very much corporeally prepared for sex. His erection had not abandoned him. It had still noticeably remained. But the orgasm had been purely and wholly emotional in nature. As potent and exhilarating as the physical. Merely… different.

Yet not altogether unfamiliar, somehow.

It had left him with an entirely new addiction.

“I’ve been smelling you everywhere, on everything, you’ve made me so crazy,” she’d sighed, deflated and woozy. She’d sounded still adrift, appeared still lost and confused within the surroundings. Nonetheless, he’d felt her hand sweeping up over his groin, such a delightful pressure on his aching, swollen cock. Her primary instinct, even when she was wandering aimless in her own conscious, to seek him out. And even as he’d still been riding dazed and disoriented on his emotional high, his body had suddenly felt as though it hadn’t fucked her in years. “Everywhere… so crazy….”

He’d grinned against her blushing skin as he’d throbbed beneath her firm, persuading touch. “I know,” he’d said. His hips had automatically thrust his erection farther into the palm of her hand, his body seeking stimulation on its own. Control deteriorating very fast because he hadn’t cared about holding back anymore. Because while he’d certainly enjoyed his experiment, the wall had shattered and images had been assaulting him ceaselessly, attaching themselves to his urges. And he truthfully had been very intent on getting _his_.

Then he’d nipped at her cheek.

He simply hadn’t been able to help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty pages of something I actually like. And you’d better too because… well, it’s twenty pages. It took forever.


End file.
